


WALL OF DEATH

by AndiiV



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Complete, Drama, Gen, Horror, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Season 2, Season/Series 02, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:03:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 46,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1933170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndiiV/pseuds/AndiiV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you make a mess on a job, you clean up properly or face the consequences. When Dean fails to clean up the way his daddy prescribed, he and Sam find themselves in the worst kind of trouble. </p><p>Set Season 2, after Born Under a Bad Sign.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Get away from me, Sammy. I’m done for.”

Dean’s eyes flashed, bloodshot and full of dread. Sam shook his head.

“I’m not leaving you like this.”

“It’s dragging me under, I can’t stop it. Take off, man.”

Dean sounded as beat up and ragged as he looked. Sam glanced round the circular pit they were standing in: thirty feet across, twenty feet high and the only door in and out securely locked. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“We’re trapped, Dean. Try and stay calm.” He kept his voice low and quiet. Dean was right on the edge of meltdown. 

“You’ve gotta kill me, ‘cause in a few minutes…” 

Dean’s voice tailed off and tears pricked at his eyes. He sounded terrified and Sam knew it wasn’t fear of dying. He glanced at his watch, the hands luminous in the half light. His stomach twisted as he realised time was almost up.

Dean was staring at him, breathing hard, fighting to keep it together. 

“I was supposed to save you, Sammy. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

The tears overflowed and ran down his bruised, battered face. Sam pulled him close and hugged him tight. He smelled of blood and sweat; Sam could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Way too fast.

“I’ll get us through this, Dean. Just don’t….”

Dean shoved him away roughly. “What the fuck are you?” 

He sounded hostile but uncertain. He backed up until he was pressed against the concrete wall. He scrubbed at his eyes and squinted.

“Sammy? For a moment there I swear…” He grimaced and threw an arm across his face. “Turn the friggin’ lights down; you trying to blind me?”

Sam frowned. If anything the yellow sodium lights, thirty feet above, weren’t bright enough. The pit was a gloomy hole, rank with gasoline and exhaust fumes which had impregnated it over time. The shadows couldn’t hide the patch of dried blood near Sam’s feet and his eyes were drawn to it like magnets. It was Dean’s blood and he knew exactly how it had gotten there. He’d watched it happen, helpless to intervene as his brother was systematically put through hell… Sam tore his gaze away. He couldn’t bear to think about it.

He heard a sharp intake of breath and glanced up. Dean was staring at the viewing gallery which ran round the top of the pit. His expression was manic. He was losing the fight.

“Look out for the demons, Sam.”

His voice was too loud but utterly sincere. Sam knew there was nothing there except the sadistic bastards who’d dreamed up this nightmare but Dean wasn’t lucid, wasn’t thinking right. He barrelled across the pit and threw himself at the wall with a sickening crunch. From above came jeering and taunts. A voice filtered down clearly and Sam recognised it.

“Coming to show me a good time, honey?”

“Toss me a rope and I’m all yours.” Dean snarled the words into a cacophony of mocking laughter.

“Don’t sweat it, asshole; soon you’ll be flying.” A different voice, off to Sam’s left. He pictured what he’d do to its owner when he got free.

Sam wanted to yell back at them but he kept a lid on it; raising his voice would only agitate his brother. Besides, he’d already made every threat, every promise of hellish retribution in his vocabulary. There was nothing more to say. The taunting got to Dean though and he was growling a stream of curses as he attempted to scale the twenty foot wall, gouging at the rough concrete blocks, scraping his fingers raw but oblivious to the blood and pain. 

Sam strode forward, grabbed the waistband of Dean’s pants and hauled him back. It was like trying to hold onto a grizzly bear. Dean struggled and yelled, impossibly strong. None of his recent injuries, not even the bullet wounds were slowing him down or holding him back. Sam knew he wasn’t hurting right now. 

“You can’t stop me, you yellow eyed son of a whore.”

Dean turned fast, breaking Sam’s grip and his right fist whipped out. Sam jumped backwards, feeling the rush of air past his jaw. He countered the move quickly, punching Dean square in the face and splitting his lip. Dean staggered and crashed into the wall but bounced right off and then he was approaching again, slow and deliberate. 

Sam backed up until he hit concrete and Dean stood before him; flushed, breathing hard and swaying slightly. Every muscle in his body was tense, tendons popped in his neck and his eyes were darting round the pit, tracking things only he could see. He was muttering steadily under his breath and Sam tried to break through the delirium. 

“I’m not a demon, Dean, I’m your brother. Look at me, really look. Try and…”

“Shut your hole, you bastard.” Dean’s voice was a guttural growl. “You fried my mom, took my Dad, turned my brother into a freak and now it’s time for payback.”

This close, Sam could see the blankness, the dead look in his eyes. This wasn’t Dean anymore; Dean was in a different reality where all he could see was the thing he most wanted to kill. More laughing and jeering came from above him. 

“Lay your bets, fellers, here it comes.”

He didn’t dare take his eyes off Dean. His brother had the look of a predator, eyes narrowed and calculating. Sam took a few steps to his left, keeping his back to the wall and Dean moved with him.

“You bought a one way ticket downstairs; and I’m punching it.”

Sam made a quick feint and Dean covered it easily. He laughed; an eerily hollow sound. “I’m faster than you… stronger. You can’t escape.”

Sam believed it. If this was a regular fight he could have guessed Dean’s strategy and movements; could have countered them effectively. They’d been coached together, taught to think the same way in combat situations. In normal circumstances it was one of their greatest strengths, but now he was facing something supercharged and unpredictable as a rattler. 

Dean tensed, tight as a spring and Sam got ready to move. His heart was pounding, adrenaline pumping through his system but the years of unique, John Winchester-style training served him well. His head was calm and clear, except for a small voice telling him to wake up. Clearly some part of him still hoped this was nothing more than a ghastly dream but Sam knew better. It was too vivid, had gone on too long and there was nothing he could do except try and survive it. The only thing which really scared him was what he’d have to do to his brother in order to achieve that. If his brother didn’t kill him first. 

A wolf whistle from the catwalk distracted Dean and he pointed at something up in the darkness. Real or imaginary, Sam had no way of knowing. 

“Pack your panties, bitch; I’m coming for you next.”

The promise in his voice was frightening. Sam used the moment of distraction to move away quietly, putting some distance between them but Dean was like an attack dog. He heard the scuff of Sam’s boots on the gritty floor and his head swung back round.

“Going somewhere, asshole?”

Sam gave it one last shot. He raised both his hands, palms up in supplication, trying to appeal to any part of his brother who was still awake in there. 

“You’re stronger than this, Dean. You can fight it.”

Dean grinned and there was blood on his teeth. “Save your breath, shithead; it’s lights out.”

He hurled himself at Sam and they crashed into the dirt. Sam tried to remember he was fighting for both their lives.


	2. Chapter 2

_Alban Springs, Colorado  
36 hours previously_

 

Dean hit the cue ball hard, slightly left of centre and winced as the rack split into uneven chaos. It was a sloppy break, precisely executed and he leaned his head on the pool table, playing the moment.

He heard a snort from his opponent and looked up with a sheepish grin.

“Ain’t my night, is it?”

The dude shook his head. “You keep laying your money down, son, I’ll keep taking it.”

He was a stocky fellow, early forties with a full beard and blue eyes which twinkled when he smiled. Dean remembered his name was Al and he seemed like a nice guy. Part of Dean hated scamming a nice guy like Al but business was business and funds were low. 

Dean picked up his beer and drained a third of the bottle in one hit, just to reinforce how he was halfway drunk as well as being a crappy pool player. Two guys at the next table finished their game and wandered across, amused by the pounding this stranger was taking. Al introduced them as Dave and Rick, work buddies and Dean guessed they all worked up at the lumber mill. Alban Springs seemed like a typical blue collar, redneck town and this bar was full of guys who looked just like them; plaid shirts, baseball caps and plenty of steam to blow off come Saturday night. It was the main reason he’d picked the joint. 

Sam didn’t like it of course and he glanced to the front of the bar where his brother was sat in a corner booth, glued to his laptop, a barely touched beer in front of him. He looked like a fish out of water and that irritated Dean no end. Sam could fit in just fine when he wanted to but on this occasion he had a point to make, an axe to grind and was royally pissed on top of it all. He might seem lost in his geeky computer world but Dean was being watched closely. After the events of this morning he’d have a tough time fooling Sammy ever again. 

Al took his first shot and potted a stripe, then another. He was a halfway decent pool player but lacked the killer instinct. Dean worked on his own strategy as he watched, throwing in enough winces and grimaces to keep it real. There was four hundred bucks riding on this contest but he wanted to make it an even five before getting serious. That meant letting Al win this game: not too easily or he’d smell a rat. Al’s third ball bounced off a cushion and Dean sent a couple of spots into their pockets; carefully calculated to look like dumb luck. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d played pool for the pure fun of it but forced a convincing grin anyway. 

“Maybe my luck’s changing, huh?”

Al shook his head amiably. “No such thing as luck in this game.”

Dean missed his next shot and cursed roundly. “There goes tonight’s motel money.”

He straightened, pretended to survey the table critically and took another swig of beer. He’d started the hustle feigning inebriation but was getting there for real now. All it took was three beers and prescription pain killers to get the magic working, which was a cheap night out all things considered. Sam wouldn’t see it that way though. 

Dean flexed his left shoulder as Al potted another stripe. It barely hurt anymore. It was stiff in the mornings for sure, but nothing which prevented him doing his job like a pro. He’d started using the pills when the pain was genuinely bad, then progressed to taking a couple when he needed to stay cool for a job or scam. The way Sam was running his life at the moment, staying cool had become a full time occupation. They didn’t keep the anger and frustration totally at bay anymore, but he still hadn’t been thrilled when Sam stumbled across them.

Dave headed for the bar, brushed lightly against Dean and murmured quietly in his ear as he passed. 

“You don’t need to leave here broke…”

The dude went on his way like nothing had happened. Dean glanced at his buddy Rick, who tipped him a wink. They were both up for some action? That was convenient and it certainly wasn’t the first time Dean had been propositioned in a bar like this. He’d started out getting offended, used his fists to do the talking before wising up to the opportunities.

Al nailed his fourth stripe and Dean considered his options. If he worked this thing right he could walk away with twice the payload. He pretended to study the balls as he sauntered round the table and lounged beside Rick. 

“What you got in mind?”

Rick looked straight ahead and his lips barely moved as he spoke. “Come outside with us. There’s two hundred in it for you.”

Dean kept his voice low. “I don’t get out of bed for two hundred. You want a piece of me, it’s two hundred each.”

“You got it, pretty boy, but we’re looking for more than a blow job.”

Dean sniffed. “Whatever you say, man, but you’re waiting ‘til I’m done here.”

Rick smirked “Make it snappy, hot cheeks.”

Dean milked the situation for all it was worth. He set up shots which had him leaning far across the table, stood right in front of them while waiting his turn, took provocative sips from his beer bottle and knew their eyes were on him at all times. They kept it subtle and Al was oblivious, or pretended to be. They both wore wedding bands and Dean figured Al was playing the prudent friend, which was the smart thing to do. 

He let Al win by a couple of balls, reached into his back pocket and slapped down his last fifty bucks. 

“What do you say? One more for the road?”

Al chuckled. “Good job it’s a warm night, son.”

Al broke efficiently. Dean saw at a glance how he could eight ball him but he’d learned the hard way how the best hustles were covert. No point rubbing their noses in it, they never liked it. Dean might have been spoiling for a fight, but Al wasn’t the guy he wanted to roast. He smirked at Dave and Rick and adjusted himself through his pants. 

“How about another round, fellers?”

The game was over in ten minutes. About the time it took to finish the fourth beer. Dean kept it close, kept it lucky and pounded the table with fake delight when he potted the black. Al took it with fake good nature, though he seemed a little suspicious. Rick slapped him on the back and steered him towards the bar, offering words of support and sympathy. He’d only lost two hundred and fifty bucks after all, he could make it back on overtime. 

Dave hung back, eyeing Dean as he counted the pile of money and stuffed it into his pocket. 

“We had a deal.”

Dean nodded. “I ain’t forgotten. Where’s it going down?”

Dave jerked his head towards the fire escape. “Use the street door, meet us out back, got it?”

“After I take a leak.”

Dean headed for the men’s room and took his sweet time. Let the bastards wait on him. He checked the knife in his boot was secure then scrutinised himself in the mirror. Damn he looked good. Scruffy and scratched up for sure, but people dug the look. Rough trade always got the job done and in his case was rarely gender specific. 

He would have preferred to get hit up by a couple of chicks but that didn’t pay for a tank of gas. He’d never in his life been offered money for sex by a woman, even the trashiest, and sometimes he pondered what he’d do if someone really wanted to buy herself some action. He was certain he’d take the cash and then some…

Dean smirked at his reflection. This situation was all out win-win. He’d make some extra money and get weeks of frustration out of his system. He’d come here to hustle and fight, in that order but an old fashioned, balls to the wall brawl was his number one priority. Anything else was a bonus. 

He took one final look at himself then sauntered out through the bar. Dave and Rick were already gone but Al was still at the bar, drinking off his defeat. He saw Dean and turned his back, still playing the blind buddy to perfection.

Sam lifted his head as Dean slid into the seat beside him. He’d barely drunk a quarter of his beer. Dean picked up the glass and knocked back a few mouthfuls. He wiped foam from his upper lip, pulled the wad of cash from his inside pocket and passed it across surreptitiously. 

“Five hundred bucks, Sammy. You impressed yet?”

Sam’s face was stony but he didn’t ask any dumb questions. He took the money and shoved it in his own pocket. 

“Can we leave now?”

Dean grinned. “There’s another four hundred coming. Give it a couple of minutes and have the Impala running.”

“What are you doing, Dean?”

Dean shrugged. “Nothing I ain’t done before.”

“Those rednecks at the pool table?”

“Yahtzee!”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You’re scamming _them?_ If you think you can handle that kind of fight…”

Dean interrupted. Sam was _really_ starting to bug him. “I’ve been hearing this crap for nearly a month and I’m done with it. You ain’t my nursemaid and I feel fine.”

Sam glared at him. “Fine? You swallowed a bunch of prescription meds just to get through the night.”

This was taking too long and Dean was itching to get outside. It was a four week old bullet wound for Christ’s sake. Old news. Why couldn’t Sam just quit worrying? 

“We’ll do this later, Sam. Get in the car and be ready to move.”

He strolled through the street door and made his way round back. It was dark and quiet and he headed towards the green light above the fire door. It cast a sickly glow over the cluttered yard. Dave and Rick were waiting and they looked riled.

“What took so long?”

Dean smirked. “Relax fellers. Good times are a coming.”

Dave moved forward eagerly and Dean put a hand on his chest.

“Back off, Romeo. Mister Franklin gets first shout.”

Dave snorted in frustration but dug in his pocket and handed over some bills. Dean counted them slowly, running his tongue provocatively over his lips as he did so, feeling the lust coming off them in waves. Rick spoke up.

“You tease us much longer, this’ll be full on rape.”

Dean pocketed the money. He leaned against the brick wall and winked. 

“Let’s do it.”

They moved in quickly and he nearly gagged at the stench of smoke, whisky and body odours which invaded his olfactory senses. Rick clapped a hand against his crotch and yanked down the zipper of his jeans, Dave leaned in for a rough kiss and Dean shoved him away.

“One thing you should know though, I ain’t no friggin’ rent boy.”

The brawl was fast and ferocious. Dave and Rick were pissed and they had every right to be. They wanted their money back, they had every right to that as well but Dean wasn’t about to surrender it. He didn’t mind being misjudged by guys like this, was mostly amused by it, but he needed a fight badly and this was exactly what he’d hoped for. 

They were strong, mean and pretty decent fighters. Even so it was one sided and way too easy. Dean took a few hits, barely felt them and he put them down in under two minutes. He took quick stock of his injuries: a shiner developing over his left eye, scuffed knuckles and a slight sprain to his wrist. Schoolyard shit. His shoulder didn’t hurt at all now. 

He pulled ten dollars from his coat and threw the bill on top of Rick. He nudged him with his boot to get his attention.  
“Buy your lady something nice.”

Dean took off. Incredibly Sam had followed instructions and was sitting in the car gunning the engine, high beams illuminating the parking lot. Dean threw himself into the shotgun seat and grinned.

“Easy money.”  
Sam stared at his blackening eye and Dean braced himself for the lecture which didn’t come. Sam just pursed his lips, eased the Impala out of the lot and onto the blacktop. They were a good mile down the road before he spoke. Dean was too busy congratulating himself to bother with conversation. 

“You got your fight, huh?”

Dean smirked. “Over too soon.”

“How much did you feel? Between the pills and the booze?”

Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Give me some credit; I know how to put down a couple of rednecks.”

He saw the lights of a Gas n’ Sip approaching and motioned sharply. “Pull over, dude. We need supplies.”

Flushed with success, buzzing from the physicality of the fight, Dean stocked up with junk food, whisky, beer and skin mags while Sam gassed the Impala. His brother’s mood didn’t get any lighter as they continued down the road to their motel. 

“How much of that booze you planning on drinking, Dean?”

Dean glanced at his watch. It was barely 11pm. He was on a high and wasn’t about to let Sam’s prissy mood bring him down.

“Tonight, my brother, I’m gonna drink whisky, watch porn and surf specialist websites. You got a problem with that?”

Sam scowled. “You’re carrying a major injury, Dean. Why can’t you deal with it like anybody else? Rest up take it easy?”

Dean sniffed. “I ain’t anybody, Sam. And you ain’t exactly innocent in all this.”

It was a low blow but it shut him up. Dean was grateful for the silence; however short lived it might prove. They pulled up at their motel and Sam was out of the car and unlocking their room before Dean could even start gathering the shopping bags.

“This isn’t over, Dean. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Dean didn’t care. He had a whole night’s boozing ahead of him.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam woke before the alarm went off. He’d slept soundly for almost eight hours which was a minor miracle. Between his own foul mood and Dean’s private party for one, which continued into the early hours, he wasn’t sure he’d get much shuteye. But the constant worrying about his brother’s mental and physical state wrung him out on a daily basis and he was exhausted. Once he’d gotten Dean back to the motel room, where he was unlikely to do anything stupid, he could finally relax. Not a word passed between them, other than Sam improvising an icepack and insisting Dean put it on his eye. He hadn’t fancied pointing out some hard truths to his brother while he was half drunk, jacked up on painkillers and riding the high of a risky, pointless fight. It could wait until morning. 

Sam got up and threw on his jogging sweats. He needed a run to clear out the last cobwebs of sleep, set himself up for the day and do some thinking. Dean was sprawled on his bed, the same position he’d passed out in, porn mag spread across his chest and a whisky bottle on the nightstand. He’d made good progress into its contents. In spite of the ice, his left eye had blackened overnight and Sam sighed. That would attract the wrong kind of attention wherever they went. 

Sam didn’t wake him. Mornings did not suit Dean; he was like a bear with a sore head even when he wasn’t hungover to hell. Sam decided to let him sleep for another hour or so and snapped off the alarm. On impulse he rifled through Dean’s duffle bag, carelessly tossed into a corner, and pulled out the bottle of pain meds. If Dean planned on gulping down any more of those babies, it would be under strict supervision.

He loped through woodland at a testing pace, enjoying the weak sunshine and fresh Colorado air. It was a crisp, early October morning and he found the chill air invigorating. He drew it deep into his lungs and pondered the situation as he ran. Prescription meds were a rare move on Dean’s part. His natural resilience and stubborn nature got him through most injuries picked up on a hunt, but a gunshot wound to the shoulder needed serious recovery time. The Winchesters rarely benefitted from professional medical care and this had been no different. Dean got a Bobby Singer patch up special, after the original injury was complicated by a fight. Sam didn’t remember any of it on account of having Meg the demon up inside him, and Dean passed it off as inconsequential, despite taking a physical hammering. 

Bobby filled him in eventually and Sam was horrified to learn how Meg had shot his brother in Duluth then used the wound to torture him at the scrapyard. Add to that what she’d done to Steve Wandell and Sam had become a walking ball of guilt. Dean hadn’t considered it a big deal, pointed out how Sam had no control over his actions, hadn’t even been aware of them. Sam doubted Steve would be so accommodating and the thought of the hunter’s vicious, futile death was eating him up.

He felt responsible for everything these days, even the fight Dean engineered last night was on him. In the best circumstances his brother was a walking pressure cooker, a thousand supressed emotions boiling up inside and ready to blow at any moment. Factor in four weeks of relative inactivity and the mix became lethal. The brutal physicality of the hunting lifestyle was usually enough to keep Dean sane, allowed him to purge his internal demons in a way he considered legitimate. When the job didn’t fulfil his needs, all hell was likely to break loose. 

While they’d been hunting steadily since Dean’s injury, and they both wanted it, Sam deliberately picked easy cases; simple salt and burns mostly. Dean needed time to heal and on the odd occasion he found something more challenging, Sam found watertight reasons to delay the job. The lack of occupational therapy had obviously gotten to his brother and some not so innocent rednecks had paid the price. 

Sam could deal with that, could even deal with the subterfuge surrounding the painkillers. What he couldn’t handle was the doubt. How many pills did his brother need to get through the day? How much was the wound bothering him? Did he need proper medical care? None of those issues had been addressed when he’d accidentally found the bottle while turning out the contents of Dean’s duffel, looking for clean socks of all things. Dean had walked out the shower and been confronted with the evidence.

He’d dealt with it in typical fashion, snatched the bottle away and told Sam he was looking at a serious beat down if he ever went through his shit again. He’d stated bluntly his shoulder was fine, it wasn’t Sam’s business and they had a job to finish. So they’d ganked the ghost, driven a few towns over and checked into another motel. The only time he saw Dean take any pills was right before they went out for the evening and he figured that was okay. It had been a rough day and he was almost prepared to let the matter drop when Dean’s reckless behaviour at the bar brought all the issues back into focus. 

A sign announcing the end of the forest trail loomed before him and Sam pulled up. He’d covered a lot of distance while his thoughts were occupied and he glanced at his watch. It was after 7.30; time to turn back and attempt to talk some sense into his brother.

He picked up coffee from the motel diner and took it to their room. Dean hadn’t moved in the time he’d been gone, but now he was snoring loudly. Sam slapped at his feet and placed the Styrofoam cup on the nightstand beside him.

“Wake up, Dean. It’s gone eight.”

Dean mumbled something incoherent but didn’t stir. Sam grabbed the magazine from his chest and swatted him round the head. 

“I’m going to shower, there’s coffee next to you. “

Dean opened his eyes and squinted blearily. “Remind me why I’m getting up? What _riveting_ D-lister you got lined up for today?”

Sam stared at him, irritated. “That depends how many magic pills you’ll need to pull it off.”

Dean groaned. “Can I at least get up before you start in on the self-righteous bullshit?”

He reached for the coffee and winced. “Dammit.”

Sam nodded smugly. “Shoulder’s hurting, huh? That fight must have done it the world of good.”

Dean sat up and scowled. “You weren’t complaining about the four hundred bucks I made on it.”

Sam was incredulous. “I’d rather have my brother in one piece.”

Dean grunted dismissively. “Stow it Florence, I’m good.”

Sam had heard enough. “Just drink your coffee and get ready to move.”

He went into the bathroom, locked the door and pulled the bottle of pills from his pocket. He smirked. Let’s see how good Dean felt when he couldn’t find his best buddies.

Ten minutes later he was back in the bedroom. Dean was methodically ripping his duffel bag apart, throwing its contents onto his bed. Sam rattled the bottle. 

“Looking for these?”

Dean’s head whipped up and his eyes narrowed. “I told you what’d happen if you went through my shit...”

Sam wasn’t remotely scared. “I’m not saying don’t take them, just be honest with me. Does your shoulder still hurt that much? Is it tough getting through the day without them?”

Dean got right up into his face. “You are _not_ my fucking shrink. Give me the damned pills.”

Stale whisky and body odour wasn’t a pleasant combination and Sam wrinkled his nose. “You need to shower, dude. You stink.

Dean glared and his eyes slid down to the bottle in Sam’s hand.

“When I come out, one way or another I’m taking those back.”

He left the threat hanging in the air and stalked into the bathroom. Sam packed up his stuff then sat at the table and braced himself for the fight he knew was coming. Dean was in the shower a long time. When he came out he dumped his soggy towel on the floor and rummaged through the pile of clothes on his bed. 

“You know what? Keep the friggin’ pills. I don’t need them.”

Sam watched him dress, watching carefully for evidence of discomfort. Years of tending injuries had taught him exactly what to look for; subtle signs which his brother’s bravado and bullshit couldn’t hide. To his surprise though, Dean didn’t show any. His shoulder was stiff and he winced slightly as he pulled on a clean tee shirt but otherwise he seemed fine. 

Dean knew he was looking. “You got a boner yet?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Most dudes like watching clothes come _off_.” 

He sat on the bed and pulled on his boots, talking mostly to himself in a low monotone. “I don’t need pills to shower, or dress, or eat, or drive, or work a case, or win a friggin’ fight.” 

Sam snorted. “Really?”

Dean straightened and his posture was hostile. “You want me to prove it?”

Sam was baffled. “If you don’t need pain meds for pain, then why?”

Dean gazed at him, considering something. Eventually he spat it out. “I like it, okay? It takes the edge off.”

Of all the things Sam was expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. “Take the edge off what?”

Dean ran his fingers through his hair. He was on unfamiliar ground and struggled to explain something which came perilously close to a genuine feeling. 

“You’ve got us playing Ghostbusters when we should be ganking demons and it’s driving me nuts. One more trainer case and I swear to god I’m gonna explode. You’ve gotta believe me when I say I’m fine.”

“Dean, you always say you’re fine, even when you can barely stand.”

“Trust me on this one, I’m good.” Dean stood up and frowned, reading the worry in Sam’s eyes. 

“I ain’t no tweaker, bro. Find a proper case and I won’t need the pills. Simple as.”

He began stuffing his gear into the duffel bag, dirty clothes going in right alongside clean. Sam watched, surprised by his brother’s rare bout of honesty. It explained some things, but not everything. 

“If they help you simmer down, what happened last night? You were spoiling for a fight the moment we walked into that bar.”

Dean stopped packing and turned to face him. 

“There’s only so much I can take, man. I mean, if I don’t get a proper workout a couple of times a week, pills or no pills something’s gotta give.”

Sam knew exactly what he meant. “You’re a physical guy, I get that. You need to blow off steam…”

Dean nodded his approval and he sounded smug. “You’re saying I’m badass.”

Sam stood up and reached for his bag. “I’m saying go use the gym, like regular people.”

"You kidding?" Dean barked out a laugh. “We’re on first name terms.” He grabbed the whiskey from the nightstand, pointed at the label and Sam sighed. He was looking at a bottle of Jim Beam. Dean stuffed it into his bag and zipped it up. He hoisted it over his shoulder.

“Are we good?”

Sam nodded. “We’re good, I guess.”

He meant it as well. Now the whole mess was out in the open, his worst fears allayed, he felt like they could move on. Dean wasn’t getting the pills back though; self-medication was off the menu.

They dumped their stuff in the car and grabbed breakfast in the diner. Sam ordered a bran muffin and ate it one handed as he trawled the net on his laptop, searching for a case which Dean would consider challenging enough. Dean was occupied with stuffing a greasy fry-up into his face and Sam knew he wouldn’t be fobbed off this time. 

“Okay, we got a possible poltergeist in Missouri…”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Seriously? If this is another ghost hunt it had better be Jesse friggin’ James.”

He had so much food in his mouth he almost spat some out. Sam was mortified and glanced round the diner, hoping nobody else had seen. Dean’s eyes widened.

“What?”

Sam shook his head. “Sometimes I can’t believe we’re even related.”

“Right back atcha, muffin top.”

Sam returned to the laptop. “…an immaculate conception in Tucson, Arizona… Uh, scratch that. Make it three conceptions.”

That got Dean’s interest. “When’s Day of the Dead going down?”

Sam checked the date. “Three weeks from now.”

“Put it on the to do list. I’ve been meaning to crash that party for years.”

Dean drank coffee as Sam continued working. He drummed his fingers on the table, fidgeted in his seat and whistled until Sam could bear it no longer. 

“You wanna go wait outside”

Dean’s face was a picture of virtue. “I’m good.”

He was beckoning the waitress for another refill when his cell phone rang. He smirked and slid out of the booth. 

“Guess it’s your lucky day, huh?”

He wasn’t gone long and when he came back his manner had changed from plain irritating to full-on wired.

“Saddle up, bro. That was Bobby.”

He slapped a road map on the table and pored over it. 

“Two hunters got a vamp nest locked down in North Platt, Nebraska. They need our help.”

His finger traced the delicate network of roads from Alban Springs to the new location. 

“If we shag ass we’ll be there around one. Break up the slumber party and have us a little gank fest. What do you say?”

Sam packed his laptop away. “I say let’s do it, if you’re sure it’s what you want.”

“Are you kidding?” Dean turned his face skywards and held his arms out wide. 

“This is a gift from heaven.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean filled Sam in as they drove, though there wasn’t much to report. The hunters who’d called in their help were Nathan Jones and Toby Myers. Neither registered on the Winchester radar but that was nothing out of the ordinary. The world was crawling with brothers-in-arms they’d never met and Dean liked to keep it that way. Bobby had kept it short; vouched for the pair of them as being of good reputation, given Dean the address of the meet point and hung up. 

They were approaching Scottsbluff, Nebraska when he began feeling antsy. They’d been on the road almost two hours and he cast a sidelong glance at Sam in the shotgun seat. His brother was wide awake, bent over the roadmap and plotting the fastest way to North Platt. Dean knew the bottle of pills was in his coat pocket, had watched Sam stash it there while pretending not to notice or care. Now he was stuck with the task of getting it back. He nudged the heater up higher; perhaps he could smoke the damned garment off his brother…

Or he could be upfront and just ask for the meds but that wasn’t his style. It would open up another can of worms and he really couldn’t handle the lecture Sam would lay on him, not to mention the doe-eyed looks of concern and quiet research of addiction websites when he though Dean was asleep.

Sam had just about bought his story back at the motel and Dean almost believed it himself. He’d honestly though a challenging, dangerous case would sort his head out and get him back in the game. While the prospect of ganking a nest of vampires was exciting enough to keep his pulse racing and the Impala’s speedometer hovering around ninety, the underlying anger and frustration was still present. 

Dean knew why the feelings wouldn’t go; he was stubborn but not stupid. The bar fight had been momentarily satisfying but come morning, nothing had changed. Short of confronting Sam on key issues involving trust, truth and loyalty, which was never going to happen, he was stuck with the problem. He’d tried to deal with it the same way he’d done all his life; keep it quiet, bury it deep, add as much liquor as necessary to keep it there and hope it eventually went away. Except this time the nagging doubt wouldn’t budge. Then he discovered the magic side-effects of the painkillers. 

Dean liked them: they made him feel good and pushed all the issues into a safe place where he could ignore them. When he was loaded he could pretend everything was okay. Sam hadn’t shot him in the shoulder four weeks ago, hadn’t shot him in the chest with a salt-loaded shotgun in Rockford last year… Whichever way he looked at it, Sam had tried to kill him twice already and it really didn’t matter what monster was pulling his strings. 

Deep down, Dean knew Sam hated him, even if Sam didn’t realise himself yet. He felt it instinctively and the knowledge was slowly killing him. He was hardwired to protect his brother and he could never change that. They’d be chained together until the final confrontation and Dean would die because there was no way he’d ever be able to pull the trigger on Sam. Part of him wanted to cry, a bigger part wanted to punch his brother’s lights out. He wasn’t about to act on either urge anytime soon. 

_Dammit_ he needed those pills.

He forced some jocularity into his voice. “Ready for a pit stop? All that coffee’s banging on the door…”

“Sure.” Sam didn’t look up from the map and didn’t budge when Dean swung the Impala into a gas station. He was still sitting in the car when Dean came out the can so he moved to Plan B. He bought up a pile of road food, loaded it into paper bags and carried them to the car. He tapped the back door with his boot. 

“A little help here, Sammy.”

Sam sighed. “Why’d you buy all that crap? It’s gonna kill you.”

Dean stared at him, his heart hammering. Maybe his awareness was skewed but he could’ve sworn Sam just said _I’m gonna kill you_.

Sam got out of the car, his face full of concern. 

“Dean, what’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet.”

Dean shook his head. “Just get the door, will you?”

He thrust the bags at Sam and as he turned to put them on the back seat, lifted the pills deftly from his coat pocket. He headed for the men’s room fast and Sam called after him.

“Where are you going?”

Dean waved a dismissive hand. “Too much grease for breakfast.”

Sam would go for that, wouldn’t ask awkward questions about how much breakfast got yakked up into the john. He hurried inside, shook two pills from the bottle and swallowed them dry. They’d take about ten minutes to kick in and he stared at himself in the mirror, pale and sweating. He used his sleeve to wipe the sheen from his forehead then splashed cold water onto his face. His hands were shaking.

Dean knew this thing wasn’t going anywhere good and he needed to kick it before it got in the way of a job. He owed it to himself to deal with it like a man and resolved to flush the pills down the nearest toilet… once the vampires were taken care of. 

He felt light headed as he walked back to the car and not-so-graciously accepted Sam’s offer to drive. He didn’t want his hyper-intuitive brother smelling a rat. He felt chilled enough to doze in the shotgun seat while the Impala ate up the miles. By the time they hit North Platt he was right on top of his game; focussed, alert and ready for action.

He directed Sam to the address Bobby had given and Sam eased the Impala down a long dirt track which opened into a yard. There were decrepit farm buildings surrounding it, a beat-up truck and dusty SUV outside one of them. Sam pulled up alongside. Dean slid the clip from his Colt .45 semi and checked it was full before getting out of the car. He tucked the weapon down the back of his pants and Sam was watching him.

“You sure that’s necessary?”

Dean shrugged. “Bobby knows these guys, I don’t.”

Nathan Jones and Toby Myers must have heard the rumble of the V8 because they came out the nearest barn, all smiles and handshakes. Dean sized them up as Sam made the introductions. They were older, he’d put them mid-forties with the jaded, calculating look of men who’d been doing the job too long. When he was bored with the pleasantries he barged into the conversation.

“You two worked together long?”

Nathan shot him an irritated look. “You always this rude?”

Dean bristled and Toby put himself between them. He smiled easily. “Me and Nathan been partnering a couple of years now. We like to think we got most things covered but this vamp nest we found, there’s gotta be twenty of the bitches inside.”

Dean grinned. “Party time.”

Nathan looked him over appraisingly. “Think you’re up to it?”

Dean arched an eyebrow and Nathan shrugged. “Heard you got shot up in Duluth a few weeks back.”

Dean smirked. “Where’d you hear that, Betty? The girls’ toilet?”

“Don’t matter where I heard it. Is it true?”

Dean eyed him coldly. “Last I heard you called _us_ in on this. If you got doubts you can shove ‘em up your ass and we’ll be on our way.”

Toby was between them again, voice calm and placating. 

“Come on now, save the fighting for the bad guys. Dean, Sam, come inside and have a cold one. We’ll show you what we’ve got and work out a strategy, huh?”

Beer sounded good and Dean followed them inside, Sam bringing up the rear. He kept his right hand close to his pistol as Toby led them through the main body of the barn. It smelled of rotting straw, stagnant water and horses. The roof was open and leaking and there were a few wooden partitions still standing among a lot of fallen and rotted wood. He realised this place had once been a stable. 

Toby opened a door at the far end of the barn and ushered them into a smaller space, probably the old tack room. The roof was intact, it was dry and considerably warmer and the hunters had set up shop efficiently. Two airbeds were pushed against the walls and there was a gas heater turned up full. A table and chairs stood in the centre of the room and Dean spotted a case of beer in the far corner. Toby motioned him forward.

“Help yourself.”

Dean scoped out the table as he passed. It was strewn with maps, books, pizza boxes and empty cans; the usual hunting paraphernalia. There was something off about it though; something missing and he tried to figure out what it was as he stooped to snag a couple of brews. It came to him in a flash. Where were all the damned weapons? 

He found out a second later as something heavy slammed into the back of his head and knocked him sprawling.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean hit the floor hard and almost blacked out. He clung to consciousness grimly as his vision darkened and blood pounded in his ears. When he tried to move, his limbs wouldn’t respond properly. He felt his coat being dragged off and the pistol removed from the waistband of his pants. He was searched roughly and efficiently. The knife was taken from his boot; switchblade, brass knuckles and lock picks from his jeans. His arms were pulled behind his back and he felt cold metal on his wrists, heard the familiar snap of handcuffs locking shut. Finally he was rolled over and Toby was grinning down at him.

“That was way too easy.”

Dean scowled. “Your momma’s easy, I was blind-sided.”

Toby kicked him in the ribs but Dean barely felt it. 

“You gonna tickle me to death?”

Toby kicked him again and Sam started shouting.

“Shut _up_ , Dean, for Christ’s sake.”

Sam? How could he have forgotten about Sam? He struggled to sit upright and looked round the room, his vision taking a second too long to focus. Sam was near the table; Nathan a few feet behind with a shotgun aimed at his head. The whole scene looked like something out of a shitty B-movie and he opened his mouth to make another crack then thought better of it. No sense taking more hits than necessary. Nathan prodded Sam with the gun.

“Take your coat off, drop it on the floor.”

Sam hesitated, looking round with confused eyes. Toby kicked Dean in the back, just below the kidney. That one hurt and he gritted his teeth against the pain. 

Nathan chuckled. “Take as long as you need, but your brother won’t enjoy it.” 

Sam’s coat was off in a heartbeat and he tossed it to the ground. 

“Every weapon you got, on the table now.”

Sam moved forward like a big, dumb ox and Dean glared at him.

“Don’t you friggin’ do it, Sammy.”

Sam glared right back. “I’m not watching them kill you, Dean.”

He threw his knives and picks on the table and Dean cursed silently. The idiot hadn’t held anything back. Nathan seemed satisfied. 

“Atta boy. Now give me your wrists.”

Sam put his hands behind his back and allowed himself to be handcuffed. Dean felt Toby’s boot nudge him in the back. 

“On your feet, soldier.”

He got up with as much grace as he could muster. He stared at Toby and Nathan, genuinely baffled by their actions.

“If all you’re good for is hunting your own, it’s time I put you down.”

“You?” Toby sniggered. “ _You’re_ the easiest hunt we’ve had in years.”

The truth stung and Dean smarted. How in hell had he managed to walk into such an obvious trap? Toby prodded him forward. 

“Start walking.”

“Where we going? Someplace hot?”

Toby shoved him harder but Dean didn’t budge. 

“I’m in the mood for TJ.”

That earned him a slap round the head. “Shut your mouth, smartass. You’re going to meet the boss.”

Dean didn’t like the sound of that. How many more of these bastards were involved? He was reluctant to leave Sam with Nathan and held his ground until Toby lost patience. He grabbed Dean’s collar, marched him across the room and shoved him out into the barn. The door slammed behind them. It took Dean’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer light and he blinked round in surprise. Five minutes ago the place was empty; now he counted three dudes, one chick and none of them looked friendly. He recognised the youngest guy as a hunter, Tim someone or other and now he was getting a _really_ bad feeling. Force of habit made him play it cool; years of practice made it convincing. 

“What’s this? Hunter’s convention?”

“You might say that.”

It was the woman who spoke and Dean focussed on her. She was about his age; dark, athletic and borderline hot. In better circumstances, after a few too many beers he’d be hitting on her hard. There were a hundred cheesy pick-up lines on the tip of his tongue but the look in her eyes stopped him dead. He’d seen it before; couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it meant but it made him twitchy and cautious. 

“Guess my invite got lost in the post, huh?”

“You’re here aren’t you?”

She approached him, loose and easy. “Dean Winchester. I heard you were pretty but words don’t do it justice.”

She ran a fingertip lightly across his bruised eye. “How’d you get this, champ?”

“I got a thing for frisky women.”

She leaned in close and kissed him hard. Dean was too shocked to do anything but fight his dick’s reflexive urge to respond, which would be downright embarrassing in front of so many dudes. Eventually she released him, her face slightly flushed.

“That was fun. We’ll do it again.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Do I get a say in it?”

Clearly he didn’t because she stepped away and beckoned Toby closer. Now she was all business.

“What was he packing?”

Toby laughed. “A goddamned arsenal if you ask me. He’s clean as a whistle now.”

She nodded, appraising. “Match fit?”

“I’d say so.”

Dean scowled. “Hey, I’m standing right here.”

Toby continued as though he hadn’t spoken.

“He’s a cocky son of a bitch but he takes the hits like a pro. I clocked him with a friggin’ sawn-off and he didn’t go under.”

“What about the rumours?”

Toby shrugged. “You want me to check?”

She considered for a moment. “I don’t think he’d appreciate that. He’ll need some special handling.”

Dean had heard enough. Two assholes discussing him like he was a trainer pony was more than his dignity could handle. He couldn’t get out of the cuffs but his legs were good to go. He gave Toby the stink eye.

“Let’s do it, grandpa. I’ll kick your sorry ass.” He glared at the girl. “Yours too, hotlips.”

Toby snorted dismissively but she clapped her hands in delight. “Isn’t he fantastic?”

Nobody else seemed to agree. She nodded at two of the other men. 

“Hold him steady.”

Dean tried to make good on his threat. He launched himself at the approaching strangers, trying to use his body as a battering ram but they were fast and wily. They simply stepped to either side and grabbed his arms as he lunged forward. He struggled until a fist landed in his guts, then he struggled to breathe. When he’d got his shit back together the chick was standing way too close. 

“You put on a good show, Dean.”

“Bite me.”

“I’ll do better than that.”

Her hand cupped his crotch and squeezed. Dean tried to back away and the grip on his arms tightened. He sneered.

“We moving into non-con now?”

She giggled and squeezed again. “He’s still packing, Toby. How the hell did you miss _this_?”

Toby sniggered and Dean’s face reddened. “You want the goods so bad, how about we discuss hire terms?”

She leaned forward and whispered into his ear. “But you’re already mine, honey. When I want you, I’ll take you.”

Dean snorted. “What’ll it be? Straps or chains?”

“Your choice, stud.”

She released the grip on his jewels, pulled up his tee-shirt and he heard her quick intake of breath. 

“So it’s true…” Her fingers traced the vivid scar on his shoulder. “Does it bother you?”

Dean stared at her incredulously. “The only thing bothering me right now is you, lady.”

Toby pulled a familiar looking bottle from his pocket. 

“These were in his coat. High end painkillers; surgery-level strong.”

She took the bottle and Dean breathed easier as she got out of his personal space. She examined the label closely.

“What are they for?”

Dean smirked. “PMS is a bitch.”

“Bullshit comes easy to you, doesn’t it, Dean?”

“Perk of the job.”

She pocketed the pills. “You’ll feel different when you’ve gone a few rounds with my boys.” 

She glanced round the group of men. “Who’s in?”

Every hand in the room was raised and Dean gawped, wondering what he’d done to piss so many people off. His eyes landed back on the chick.

“You wanna go first, sweetheart?”

“Oh I’ll be taking my turn. Maybe first, maybe last, I won’t spoil the surprise.”

Dean snorted. “Fight and fuck, huh? That’s original.”

She giggled. “You still get all the fun, Dean.”

Dean understood the look in her eyes now. Over the years he’d met a few hunters playing short of a full deck, but this was the first woman he’d encountered. That made her unpredictable at best, Gordon Walker grade psycho at worse. He didn’t know which end of the spectrum he was dealing with and while that was scary enough, the idea of getting screwed by her was downright terrifying. He kept his game face on.

“You got a name? Psycho bitch don’t exactly roll off the tongue.”

She didn’t react to the insult. It was like she’d been waiting for him to ask. 

“It’s Suzie, hon. Suzie Wandell.”

Dean struggled to remember where he’d heard that name before and she helped him along. 

“You don’t know me, but your brother was on intimate terms with my daddy.”

Realisation hit like a sledgehammer. This was the daughter of Steve Wandell, the hunter Sam killed four weeks ago. She was out for revenge and she was batshit crazy. Friggin’ awesome.

Dean feigned shock. “Sam’s gay? I always knew something was off...”

“Nice try.” Suzie jerked her head towards the rest of the gang. “Get him settled in the van. I need a few moments with little bro.”

That was enough to make Dean see red. He made a lunge at Suzie and was immediately overpowered. He snarled at her instead. “You lay a finger on him and I’ll fucking kill you, I swear to God.”

She patted him gently on the cheek. “Sammy’s safe as houses, slugger. But you hold onto all that anger. You’re gonna need it.”


	6. Chapter 6

Sam sat on a camping chair and watched Nathan Jones go through the pockets of his coat. His wallet, switchblade and cell phone were tossed onto the table and Nathan grinned as he removed the SIM card from the phone. 

“Don’t need that pesky GPS tracking, do we?”

Sam answered flatly. “Eat me.”

The grin widened. “Smart mouth runs in the family, don’t it?”

He finished his search and tossed the coat aside. Sam frowned; he was certain Nathan had missed something. Realisation hit him like a freight train and he cursed silently. Where were the damned pills?

He worked it out in a heartbeat. Dean with all those friggin’ bags at the gas station, the quick dash to the men’s room… For all his glib assurances and easy promises, he was still using and he’d lifted that bottle like a conniving junkie. His brother was high as a kite, which explained his dumbass jibes towards Toby and lack of pain when he paid for them. God only knew what hole he was digging for himself next door. 

Sam had seen a group of people waiting in the barn as Dean was shoved out, listened to voices coming through the closed door but couldn’t make out anything specific. He’d heard Dean shouting a minute ago, which meant he was at least conscious, then everything went quiet. 

Nathan sat in the chair opposite and levelled the shotgun. Sam gazed at him coolly.

“What are we doing”

“We’re waiting.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow. “Hallowe’en or Thanksgiving?”

Nathan leaned forward and jabbed him with the gun’s muzzle.

“Speak when you’re spoken to.”

Sam shut up and waited. He didn’t wait long before Toby came back into the room accompanied by a young, dark haired woman. He craned his neck to see into the barn through the open door, but there was no sign of Dean or anybody else. The chick smiled.

“Don’t worry about your brother, Sammy. He’s doing fine.”

“It’s Sam.” He scowled at her. “If you hurt him I’ll rip your fucking lungs out.”

That only served to amuse her. “You Winchesters are so alike it’s downright scary.”

She motioned Nathan to vacate his seat, flopped down and scrutinised him closely.

“They say the camera never lies, but you’re so much finer in the flesh.”

Sam had no idea what she was talking about, since he spent most of his time actively avoiding cameras. She read his uncertainty.

“CCTV, Sam. Ring any bells?”

Sam’s stomach flipped. There was only one bell ringing in his head right now and it was deafening him. He played his best poker face.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She grinned. “Come on, you knew you’d been papped. Why else would you total my old man’s computer?”

Sam stared at her, appalled, watching a smile play at her lips. 

“That’s right, honey. I’m Suzie Wandell and it’s a real pleasure to meet the man who slit my daddy’s throat.”

This was worse than anything he could have imagined. Sam struggled to find the right words and failed miserably. “I can explain…”

She held up a finger to silence him. “No need. I saw what happened and I saw how you tried to cover it up.”

She dropped him a sly wink. “Word to the wise, Scooter, hard drives are tough little bastards. Next time you trash a computer, take a hammer to it, huh?”

Sam’s memories of the night in Steve Wandell’s house were sketchy at best. He’d been in shock after watching himself kill the hunter in cold blood, and Dean had done most of the cleaning up. He vaguely recalled his brother throwing the computer on the floor and putting his boot through it. If he’d been on his A game, rather than fighting dizziness and nausea, he’d have done the job properly. Not that he blamed Dean for any of it. Dean shouldn’t have been there, wouldn’t have been there if Sam hadn’t screwed up, run away and let his guard down.

Suzie picked up his switchblade, flicked it open and scratched at the scarred table top. Her voice was like treacle.

“Hunters cross each other all the time, it comes with the territory. We don’t play well together…”

She shot a glance from under her fringe. 

“What did he do to piss you off, Sam? What was so bad you needed to ice an old man?”

Sam’s mouth was dry as dust. “It wasn’t me. I mean, it was me but I was possessed by a demon. She killed him for kicks.” 

He shook his head, knew how lame that sounded. “She even had me…”

He pulled up sharply. She didn’t need to know what Meg had done to Dean, though Suzie didn’t seem bothered either way. 

“I don’t especially care about the whys. You killed my daddy and now it’s time for payback.”

Sam’s heart was racing. “Fine. It’s me you wanted, you got me. Let Dean go, he had nothing to do with it.”

She laughed like he’d just made a killer joke. “You kidding me? Your brother’s the star turn in this show.”

Sam stared at her. “What the fuck?” 

Suzie dug the switchblade harder into the table, scoring it deeply. She kept her eyes fixed on it as she spoke.

“The idea of watching your closest kin get butchered is bad enough, but to see it happen remotely, on a friggin’ computer screen is like hell. You want to do something, you need to protect them but all you get to do is watch. You feel helpless, powerless, responsible…”

Her voice tailed off as she struggled to contain her emotions. It came back hard and steady.

“You’re going to feel everything I felt, Sam. You’re going to watch Dean suffering… You might even get to see him die but you won’t be able to do a damned thing about it.”

Sam lifted his chin defiantly. “Don’t be so sure.”

Her expression had been guarded but now it was feral. The shutters lifted from her eyes and they flashed with something he recognised immediately.

“How long you been off your meds, Suzie?”

She responded by pulling a plastic bottle from her pocket.

“Let’s trade secrets. How long’s Dean been on these?”

She held up the painkillers and Sam shrugged, playing it casual.

“We keep ‘em around for emergencies. He was hungover to hell this morning; guess he needed something for the road.”

“Nothing to do with the shoulder, huh?”

She tucked the bottle away and glanced at Toby. “How long before lover boy's begging for these babies, huh?” 

Toby sniggered and Sam felt a rush of anger. He fought the urge to jump up and attack, which would be a pointless, painful exercise. Instead he put as much threat into his voice as he could muster.

“The worse you make it for us, the worse it’ll be for you. You should remember that; especially you, psycho bitch.”

She laughed. “That’s just what big bro said. You fellers must be telepathic.”

She nodded at her two cohorts. “Take him to the car. I’ll finish up here.”

Her cell phone rang and she glanced at the caller ID before flipping it open. Her face turned stony and her voice dropped to a growl. 

“Where the hell are you? You were supposed to meet us…”

Toby and Nathan grabbed Sam’s arms and hauled him upright. Suzie was talking again and she sounded pissed.

“I don’t _care_ what else is going on. Nothing’s more important than this…”

She listened for a moment, tense and irritable.

“That’s bullshit. When I make a plan I see it through, you should know that by now…”

She noticed Sam staring and jerked an impatient thumb at the door. As the two men dragged him out of the room he caught the tail end of the conversation.

“I’ll text you the address of the new place. Get in your car and start driving _now_. Don’t make me come get you.”

Sam couldn’t begin to guess who was on the other end of the line, but it really didn’t matter if an extra hunter was about to join them. Whichever way you looked at it, he and Dean were royally screwed. 

He was taken outside to the SUV. Nathan kept the shotgun on him while Toby unlocked the cuffs and pushed him into the front seat. He threaded them through the armrest on the door then re-cuffed Sam’s wrists in front of him. It was a short chain and there wasn’t enough slack for him to move his hands any more than an inch. He couldn’t even scratch his ass. Toby pulled a heavy canvas bag over his head and slammed the door shut. He heard footsteps in the gravel outside, felt the SUV rock on its suspension as the two men got inside and something hard tapped the back of his head. Nathan’s voice came from behind him.

“Just in case you get any ideas, shotgun’s right here.”

Sam quickly lost track of time. He attempted to memorise the route they were taking but wasn’t familiar enough with the area. He knew when they’d reached the interstate as the SUV picked up speed, but it wasn’t enough to go on. The bag over his head muffled sound and made it hard to breathe. It was hot, smelly, scratchy and soon became torturous. He knew he should be working on a plan but he couldn’t concentrate. He felt sick to his stomach, his mind looping on what might be happening to Dean and he couldn’t handle the images his mind was offering him. 

All this was his fault and guilt was eating at him like a disease. His head began to spin and he really needed to puke. He controlled his breathing and got the unpleasant sensations under control by focussing on the moment. After that he stayed in the moment; he needed to save his strength for when it was really needed. 

Not long afterwards the SUV slowed. It rolled along a bumpy, uneven surface for about half a mile and then pulled up. The engine was switched off and Nathan tapped the gun against Sam’s head again.

“Play nice, sonny.”

The cuff on his left wrist was removed briefly then re-attached. The bag stayed over his head as he was guided across rough terrain. Sam felt mud squelch under his boots, smelled rain on the air and wished to God he’d never left Colorado.

He was led up some squeaking stairs, which flexed alarmingly under his weight, then held in place while the cuffing process was repeated. Finally the bag was tugged from his head and he clamped his eyes shut against the harsh intrusion of light. 

“Enjoy the view.”

Nathan and Toby took off and Sam gulped in cool air, savouring the freshness until an acrid smell invaded his nostrils and he grimaced. What was that? It smelled like Bobby’s scrapyard and he opened his eyes cautiously. 

He was looking into a circular concrete pit which stood twenty feet high and measured roughly thirty feet in diameter. It was dank, gloomy and he was handcuffed to the metal guard rail which ran round the top of it. The pit was covered by a large wooden shack which had seen much better days. The walls had once been brightly coloured but now the paint was faded, peeling and completely gone in some places. There were holes in the roof and Sam felt a light spray of rain on his face. He looked behind and saw rickety stairs leading down to a set of swing doors. One of them was half open but all he could see outside was a flat expanse of mud. He turned back to the pit, picking some bleached-out words from the upper section of concrete.

Wall of Death.

Now he knew where he was, understood why the smell of oil and gasoline was so ingrained in the place. This was an old carnival attraction. Once upon a time, men had ridden motorcycles round that pit, centripetal force holding them steady as the machines climbed high up the wall. An eager crowd at the top would cheer them, kids staring in wonder as though it were some kind of magic…

All magic had deserted this place long ago. Now it was just Sam, an over-ripe imagination and a belly full of dread. He yanked at the cuffs but the rail was solid as rock. He twisted his wrist enough to see his watch and discovered it was close to 4pm. It meant this place was approximately two and a half hours from North Platte but the information was of no use whatever. Sam had no clue where he was. 

He gave up trying to escape after ten minutes then waited another twenty before feet tramped up the creaky stairs. Nathan had swapped his shotgun for a low calibre rifle and Toby was carrying something in a black leather case. Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was. Suzie was close behind them and a younger guy brought up the rear. He was about Dean’s age and build and Sam recognised him as a hunter called Tim Matthews. He was sure Dean worked a case with this dude a couple of years back. 

The presence of so many hunters confused Sam. He understood Suzie’s animosity, it was her daddy got killed after all, but he couldn’t figure what axe the rest of them were grinding. He nodded at Tim and got a blank stare in return. Suzie sniggered. 

“You’re not exactly flavour of the month round here.”

Tim was decidedly unhappy. “Suzie showed us what you done; I seen it with my own two eyes. Hunters ganking other hunters is plain wrong.”

There was a southern twang to his voice and Sam recalled he came from some hick town in Kentucky. He opened his mouth to contest the statement but Tim wasn’t done. 

“You’ve gotta pay for what you did, man. It’s kinda sad because Dean, he’s a decent guy. He shouldn’t be suffering on your account.”

This time Sam embraced the white hot anger which swept through him like a flash flood. He yanked at the handcuffs viciously, trying to pull the guard rail from its moorings. 

“Dean’s got nothing to do with this you son of a bitch. You got a problem with me, we’ll settle it man to man.”

Tim shook his head. “Don’t work like that.”

Sam snarled at him. “Fucking coward.”

Suzie was watching with keen interest. “You Winchester boys sure got some anger management issues.”

He glared at her. “You don’t know the half of it.”

She patted his shoulder. “Just simmer down, big guy; the fun’s about to start.”

Nathan cocked his rifle and held the weapon casually, but its barrel was pointing into the pit. Toby unzipped the case he was carrying and pulled out a video camera. That was pointed the same way and Sam stared in horror. Were the sick bastards about to shoot Dean and film it for kicks? The rifle looked like a .22, maybe not powerful enough to kill him outright at this range, but it would do plenty of damage. Suzie’s eyes flashed with relish.

“You feeling it yet, Sammy?”

His attention was drawn back to the pit as a door in the wall banged open and Dean was shoved inside. His hands were cuffed behind his back and there were some new bruises on his face. Two men followed him in; hunters for sure. They were tough, grizzled customers with a distinct weight advantage. Tim scooted downstairs and moments later the door was pulled shut and locked, trapping all three inside.

Dean was looking around. He seemed nothing more than curious but when Sam shouted his name his head whipped up. 

“Sammy? You okay? Did those fuckers hurt you?”

“I’m fine, Dean. They’ve got a rifle on you up here, looks like a .22.”

"Girl Scout gun." Dean snorted dismissively. “Who’s packing? I’m guessing it's that pussy Nathan.”

The butt of the rifle rammed into Sam’s ribs and there was nothing Girl Scout about it. Nathan’s voice was cool and business like.

“Open your trap again and I’ll shoot your brother in the leg. Got it?”

Sam nodded, all the wind knocked out of him. Nathan glanced at Suzie.

“We still waiting on someone?”

Suzie shook her head. “Screw her. The bitch can watch on playback.”

She called down into the pit. 

“This is a warm up for you, Dean. See how you do in a fair fight.”

Sam stared at her, incredulous. “This is fair to you?”

She shrugged. “It’s the best odds he’s getting.”

Sam couldn’t even guess at the outcome of this contest. Dean was one of the best close combat fighters he’d ever seen; if this was him against two regular guys there would be no doubt in his mind. But Dean was jacked up on pills and hunters knew every dirty trick in the book. The odds weren’t looking good…

Suzie clapped her hands briskly. “Let’s get this party started.”

One of the hunters unlocked Dean’s handcuffs and dropped them to the floor. Dean rubbed his wrists as he sized up his opponents and began circling slowly. He took off his shirt, pulled his belt from its loops and coiled it tightly round his right hand. Finally he flashed them an insolent smile.

“Bring it on.”


	7. Chapter 7

Dean circled the hunters slowly, sizing them up. He kept smiling, showing no fear because he honestly wasn’t scared. They were bigger and heavier than him for sure, but he was young and fast. He was also itching to beat the crap out of them.

These assholes tormented him in the back of the van for hours while Tim Matthews, somebody he’d considered an okay guy until now, drove them to God knew where. They made him sit on a bench in the back of the vehicle, chained his wrists to an eyelet in the roof and pulled a bag over his head. Then they provoked him with every taunt and insult in the book. Nobody and nothing was spared: Dean’s family, friends, skill set, intellect, sexuality, character and reputation was ridiculed and derided with imagination and relish. Especially his family…

He’d given as good as he’d got at first, but each smartass retort earned him a punch or kick. He couldn’t see them coming, couldn’t brace against them and they hurt. His left shoulder was a popular target and after three direct hits he shut up. It wouldn’t stand more damage and he needed it in one piece for whatever was coming.

His silence didn’t stop the tormenters. They kept poking and prodding, trying for a reaction but Dean bit his tongue and stayed silent. Even that earned him a few random cuffs. He satisfied himself by burning every one of their words into his memory; they’d pay for them later. 

And how he’d gotten his wish; locked in a pit with the men he wanted to destroy. The last dose of painkillers had mostly worn off and he took perverse satisfaction in that. The comedown always made him tense, edgy and aggressive, but it also sharpened his senses and instincts. There was too much adrenalin in his system now for any of the recent injuries to register and he was eager to get started, put these bastards down as painfully as possible. He was finally getting the fight he’d needed for the past two weeks and he eyed his opponents coldly.

“This don’t end ‘til somebody’s in the morgue. You know that, right?”

He meant every word. Dean didn’t often kill humans but these ones had crossed the line. Hunters gone bad were the worst kind of monsters in his book and this was no different to ganking any other kind of creature. 

They weren’t remotely fazed by his warning and one of them laughed.

“You talk a good fight, pretty boy.”

Dean shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

They were watching and signalling each other. He guessed they’d try and charge him, take him to the floor. If that happened it was all over so he kept moving, kept some distance between them. Dean had a few ideas of his own and backed up until he came across the handcuffs lying in the dirt. The moron who’d removed them from his wrists had forgotten to lock them, which was a mistake they’d both pay for. As he stooped to snag them he heard a voice shout from the gallery above. 

“Put them down, Winchester.”

It sounded like that asshole Nathan. He could fuck himself as well. Dean yelled right back. 

“Screw you.”

A bullet whined past his left ear and he ducked away, heard it crack into the wall behind.

“I said put them down.”

“And I said screw you.” Dean put the cuffs in his back pocket and turned in the direction of the shot. He spread his arms out wide, presenting an easy target.

“You wanna shoot me? Go right ahead, I got nothing to lose.”

No shot came, as he’d expected, but the distraction was nearly his undoing. He heard boots scuffing and saw the hunters hurtling towards him, side by side, intent on crushing him against the wall. 

Dean’s reflexes saved him. He jumped aside and let the nearest man run onto his fist; embedding his face on the leather belt covering his hand. He felt a cheekbone snap and heard the grunt of pain. Dean broke his nose with a fast jab then drove the heel of his boot into his kneecap. The man’s right leg collapsed and he dropped ungraciously into the dirt. Dean kicked him in the temple but it didn’t connect as hard as he’d intended. His buddy probably saved his life by choosing that moment to barrel into Dean and knock him sprawling. 

The blows came quickly, his ribs and back taking the brunt as Dean rolled. He kept rolling, trying to get his feet under him and finally succeeded in getting some traction. He scrambled up and launched himself at his opponent, grabbed him round the waist in a flying tackle and used his weight to wrestle him to the floor. He straddled the man and landed several brutal punches to his face before a knee jerked up and rammed him twice in the kidney. The impact, rather than the pain, knocked him off balance and he was thrown clear. 

The man lurched after him, tried to get on top and reverse the tables but he was groggy and slow. They both stumbled to their feet but Dean got there first and delivered a right hook to the man’s jaw. It knocked him flat on his ass again. Dean kicked him in the balls, rolled him over and ground his face into the dirt. He punched him in the kidney and snarled into his ear.

“That’s for what you said about my family, asshole.”

He pulled the handcuffs from his pocket, dragged the man’s arms behind him and locked the ratchet mechanism tight. He stood up, breathing hard and looked for the guy he’d put down earlier. The guy found him first. 

A fist connected with the side of his face and he staggered. The man was behind him now, got a grip on his biceps and slammed him against the wall with rib crushing ferocity. Dean tried to twist round but the man’s bulk was pinning him tightly. Fingers wound into his hair, mashed his face into the stonework and blood began pouring from his nose. He struggled and cursed, had a third conversation with the wall and managed to get his left hand behind him. He got a grip on the man’s nuts and yanked with all his strength. The dude screamed and backed off, clutching his sack. Dean wiped blood from his nose and punched him in the mouth, hard enough to knock out a couple of teeth. He buckled, went down and Dean kicked him everywhere he could get at. Black spots were dancing before his eyes and he heard voices from the gallery, ordering him to quit. He spat blood on the floor and laughed. 

“It’s what you wanted isn’t it? Don’t pussy out now.”

He turned back to the semi-conscious man at his feet. He was going to break his damned neck; then he was going to gank his buddy. Dean’s mind was clear and focussed; no doubt there at all. 

He heard a shot ring out a fraction of a second before something hard and hot punched into his left side, just below the ribs. The impact knocked him backwards and he lost his footing, went down on his ass in the dirt. Nathan’s voice echoed round the concrete pit. 

“Stay down, Winchester. The next one goes through your lung.”

Dean stayed down. He’d proved a point and won by a country mile. They’d be more careful who they threw at him next time. He pulled up his tee shirt, looking for the bullet wound but all he could see was blood. The door to the pit clanged open and Toby stalked towards him, holding a shotgun. Dean smirked.

“Coming to try your luck, Doris?”

Toby hefted the gun. “Not today, you crazy son of a bitch.”

The stock of the gun slammed into Dean’s head and knocked him senseless.

 

He woke to the sound of his name spoken insistently, over and over. He ignored it. It was only when he realised the voice belonged to Sam that he tried to respond. It was slow going. His eyelids wouldn’t obey his brain’s command to open and when they finally did, light speared his eyes. He threw up an arm and pain seared down his side. He groaned and cursed as memory returned. 

“They shot me. What the hell?”

“Don’t move.” Sam’s voice was right next to him. “I’ve got it.”

Dean felt pressure below his ribs and pain flared again. He winced and dropped his arm, let Sam’s face come into slow focus.

“How long was I out?”

“A while. They dragged you from that fucking pit and dumped you in here.” 

Sam’s face was tight with concern but something else was burning in his eyes. “They made me watch you bleed for fifteen minutes before they let me in.”

Dean didn’t get it. “Why?”

“Because they…” Sam was having trouble getting the words out. “This is about me, Dean. They’re punishing me by hurting you.”

He sounded choked and Dean glared. 

“Don’t you pull a guilt trip on me, Sammy. Don’t you fucking dare.”

Sam wouldn’t meet his eye. He dabbed the bullet wound with a bloody rag and Dean realised it was a piece of his own shirt, the one he’d discarded before the fight. He glanced down at himself.

“How bad is it?”

“Just a scratch.” Sam smiled wanly. “You’ve had worse.”

He placed Dean’s hand over the rag. “Keep pressure on it. The bleeding’s nearly stopped.”

He stood up, tense as a rattler about to strike. Dean stayed put and assessed his injuries. He was battered and bruised, sore and aching, probably had a concussion but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He was lying on a hard bunk with a thin mattress and no blankets, one grade up from the floor and Sam was watching from under his fringe.

“I’m sorry you got shot, Dean. I…”

“Shut up, Sam.”

Dean sat up gingerly and gazed round, taking in his surroundings . They were inside an actual cage. Steel bars made up the walls and roof and it was erected inside a larger building which smelled of age and damp. The floor was ancient wood, weak light filtered through dirty skylights and it was cold and empty. He figured it was some kind of storehouse, or used to be. Sam was staring off into the gloom. 

“Somebody out there?”

Sam shook his head slightly. “Not anymore.”

Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed and Sam put a hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy, man. You took a pounding in that pit.”

Dean put a hand to his nose and it came away sticky with blood. He felt it cautiously but it wasn’t broken. That was something, at least.

“What happened to those other bastards?”

Sam hesitated for a moment. “They went to the hospital.”

Dean grinned. “Who’s king of the ring, huh?” He tried to punch the air and winced at the pain it provoked all over his body.

Sam’s expression was inscrutable. “You beat the crap out of them, Dean.”

“Wasn’t that the point?”

“I guess… I don’t know.”

Dean frowned, trying to fathom his brother’s thinking.

“You feel bad for them? They get the hospital, hot nurses and painkillers; I get shot and thrown in a cage. What the fuck?”

Sam shrugged and irritation prickled up Dean’s spine.

“Are you taking their side? Are you judging me?” 

“Of course not. They put you in there, you had no choice...”

He left the words hanging and Dean got carefully to his feet.

“You got something to say? Spit it out.”

Sam spoke quietly. “You were out of control, Dean. You would have killed them.”

“So?”

“It was frightening, man. It wasn’t you.”

Dean stared at him in disbelief. “What friggin’ planet are you on? You think they didn’t deserve it?”

Sam shrugged again and Dean fought to control an anger which was threatening to consume him. He was tense, wired and he _really_ needed to hit something. Listening to his brother, all he could hear was self-righteous bullshit. 

“How about next time I offer them herb tea, maybe a palm reading. That suit you better, Sammy?”

Sam glared. “Screw you, Dean.”

Those three words pushed him over the edge. The anger Dean had bottled up for four weeks, the anger he couldn’t escape no matter how many people he punched, came spilling out again.

“You know what? We’re both screwed to hell and whose fault is that?”

Sam went rigid and the blood drained from his face.

“You saying this is on me? I was _possessed_ , you son of a bitch.”

His words came out like bullets but Dean wasn’t buying it anymore.

“Maybe you should have fought a little harder, Sammy. Maybe then you wouldn’t have friggin’ shot me in Duluth...”

Sam grabbed him and slammed him against the bars of the cage.

“You want to blame me for that? Fine. But who’s to blame for the pills, huh? Who’s to blame when you go full-blown psycho ‘cause you don’t get enough, or nearly friggin’ OD? Who’s to blame when you lie and cheat and steal to get your fix?”

Dean pushed him away.

“Shut up or I’ll break your jaw.”

Sam backed off a couple of steps. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“You can’t handle the truth, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes flashed. “Try me.”

“You want me dead.” Dean’s voice came out as a menacing growl. “Don’t deny it; you’ve tried twice and I don’t give a damn about spirit possession or demon possession. Deep down you want it or you wouldn’t have let those things pull the trigger.”

All the fight went out of Sam. He looked utterly defeated but Dean carried on regardless. He was on a roll; all the fears and doubts of the past few weeks spewing into reality.

“Those pills help me forget my own brother hates me enough to kill me.”

Sam’s jaw dropped open in shock. “Christ, Dean. When did you get this messed up?”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

Tears pricked at Sam’s eyes. “How can I reason with a junkie?”

Dean pulled up his tee shirt, displaying the raw gash below his ribs.

“Did you do this, huh? Did you pull the trigger, Sam, ‘cause it sure as hell fits your MO.”

Sam charged without warning; shoved him with enough force to knock him down then leaped on top of him. Dean struggled and cursed but the recent injuries were draining his strength. Sam overpowered him and pinned him to the floor. Dean glared.

“You want me to say Uncle?”

Sam glared right back. “I’m not your enemy, Dean. Don’t you get that? Don’t you remember all the times I’ve _saved_ your sorry ass?”

“Get the hell off me, Sam.”

Sam didn’t budge. “We’re in a shit storm of trouble here. We need to stick together and fight what’s coming for us, not each other. Stay with me, Dean; we’ll work the rest out afterwards.”

The blinding anger was ebbing and Dean got a flash of clarity, felt a pang of guilt.

“It’s the pills, man. They’re screwing with my head; I can’t think straight anymore…”

That was the closest Sam was getting to an apology and he knew it. He got up, pulled Dean to his feet and appraised him with eyes which missed nothing.

“Look at yourself. You bottle this stuff up, drink too much, let it fester then act surprised when you lose the friggin’ plot. Why can’t you just talk about it?”

Dean stared at the floor. “You ain’t my shrink, Sammy.”

The door of the warehouse banging open effectively closed the conversation and for that he was profoundly grateful. Six people came inside and Dean gripped the bars of the cage, watching them approach. Suzie was leading the pack, Nathan and Toby flanking her with shotguns. Tim was there and Dean spotted two new faces, as mean and grizzled as the ones he’d recently put down. He smirked.

“More dogs for the slaughter? That hospital better be on standby.”

Nathan eyed him coldly. “That last fight was just an assessment. You’ll get something challenging next time.”

Suzie was looking him over appreciatively. “On your feet so soon, Dean? I’m impressed.”

Dean sneered at her. “Get fucked.”

“The boy’s a mind reader.” She produced a set of handcuffs and handed them to Tim Matthews.

“Tim’ll get you settled on the bed. Act up and little Sammy shits lead for a month.”

Nathan cocked his gun and pointed it into the cage as Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“What’s going on?”

“Big bro didn’t tell you?” Suzie’s gaze swung across to Dean. “You knew this was coming, didn’t you stud?”

Dean had somehow managed to blank it out; never thought she’d actually go through with it and his stomach twisted. This was so much worse than facing down two hunters in the pit. He glanced at Sam and forced a smile.

“Psycho bitch thinks she’s going to work me over. Can you imagine?”

Suzie laughed. “He doesn’t have to imagine anything. Sammy here gets to watch.”


	8. Chapter 8

Sam honestly hadn’t thought this nightmare could get any worse, but Suzie had just upped the ante considerably. Like being forced to watch Dean in the pit hadn’t been bad enough, now he was supposed to watch his brother get raped as well?

He was still reeling from what he’d witnessed barely half an hour ago. Dean’s chances had seemed remote but he’d put up the mother of all fights and gotten the upper hand. Until the kill switch failed to engage. Then he’d become vicious, deranged and intent on committing murder; more like something they’d hunt than a human being. Sam had been shocked and profoundly disturbed by the transformation. Dean had been outnumbered plenty of times before, always ran the gauntlet between honourable intent and self-serving gratification, but he usually knew where to draw the line. Especially with ordinary people, however much they might deserve it. The only explanation was the pills; screwing with his head to the point he couldn’t tell right from wrong anymore and Sam barely recognised his own brother. 

He felt responsible for that. Dean wouldn’t have started using if he hadn’t gotten shot; Suzie Wandell wouldn’t have come looking for revenge if Sam hadn’t screwed up… Whichever way he looked at it, he was the root cause of every bad thing that had gone down in the past four weeks. This latest development was just icing on the cake. 

He pushed the anger and burgeoning guilt into the hole where he’d kept it locked for the past few hours. He’d kept a lid on it when Dean get shot and knocked unconscious, hadn’t gone postal when he was forced to stand for fifteen minutes, watching his brother bleed... He got through it by telling himself how one of them needed to stay in control; alert and actively seeking a means of escape. Sam hadn’t found one yet, but he’d keep trying. 

He’d managed to get a look at his surroundings as Toby and Nathan led him from the pit and across a tract of muddy ground to the storehouse. They appeared to be at an abandoned carnival site; broken down rides, graffiti and decaying buildings all around. It was bleak, desolate and isolated; they were unlikely to be disturbed or accidentally discovered. Hauling their asses out of this sorry mess was going to be one supersize challenge, but both their lives depended on it. Dean might be the current focus of Suzie Wandell’s vengeance, but Sam knew he wasn’t far behind. 

The rattle of a key drew his attention back to the cage. Tim was unlocking the door and Dean was watching; expression mutinous and every muscle in his body tensed. 

“You walk through that door, pal, you ain’t walking out again.”

Sam joined him, standing shoulder to shoulder with his brother. He put as much menace into his voice as he could muster.

“Think you can take us both, Tim?”

Tim eyed them warily and turned to Suzie. “I ain’t going in there.”

“You’re a damned coward, you know that?” She pulled a pistol from the back of her pants and aimed it at Sam. 

“Move away from Dean or I shoot.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re not coming anywhere near him.”

She dropped the muzzle of the gun and fired into the floor. The bullet missed Sam’s foot by a few inches and he swore and jumped aside.

“The next one goes through your knee.”

Sam stood his ground and glared defiantly. Dean spoke quietly. 

“This ain’t worth getting crippled over.”

Sam glanced at him, surprised. “The hell it’s not.”

“I can handle that bitch.”

“How?” Sam struggled to keep his voice low. “You’re just gonna lie there and let her ra…”

He balked at saying the word out loud. It made the whole thing too real, too inevitable. Dean grabbed his shoulders and his face was set, his eyes hard. His voice was still quiet but forceful.

“It’s only sex, Sammy. There’s no way you’re taking a bullet for me.”

Sam tried to push him away but he didn’t budge. “You’re not doing this, Dean. It’s too much…”

“You got a better plan?” Dean dropped his voice even lower. “It’ll buy us some time while you use that supersize brain of yours to figure a way out of this. I’ll close my eyes and pretend it’s… I dunno, Kate Winslett.”

He grinned confidently but Sam could read him like a book, no matter what cover he put on it. Right now Dean was crapping himself. Suzie tapped on the bars with the gun.

“Huddle’s over, fellers. You going to play nice?”

Dean scowled. “You’re wearing the strap on.”

She beckoned to Sam. “Over here, big boy.”

He approached reluctantly. She had him turn round and put his wrists through the bars of the cage. Tim locked on the cuffs and Suzie pressed her gun into the small of his back. Dean stood motionless, watching impassively but his fists were clenched tight. Suzie thumbed back the trigger. 

“Don’t be a hero. Play ball or Sam gets it.”

Dean’s eyes glinted with danger. “Just so you know, lady, I play hardball.”

“Stow the macho bullshit, Dean. Just do as you’re told.”

She nodded at Tim. He unlocked the door and approached warily.

“Get on the bunk, hands behind your head.”

Dean’s expression was murderous but he obeyed the order. Tim produced a second set of cuffs and secured his wrists to the bunk’s headboard then stood back, shifting nervously. Dean watched him coldly. 

“This is what I get for saving your ass in New Orleans?”

Tim shook his head. “I’m sorry man, I didn’t know…”

“I was in the hospital for a week.” Dean’s tone was scathing. “Remember saying how you owed me big time? You got some fucked up ideas about payback.”

Tim stared at the floor and Sam suppressed a smile. Dean had identified the weakest link in the gang and was putting in some preliminary work. Unfortunately, Suzie spotted it as well. 

“He’s yanking your chain, Tim. Get out of there now.”

Dean smirked. “Listen to teacher, you pussy whipped sack of shit.”

Tim’s face went red but he didn’t move. He remained in a state of flux until Suzie marched inside, grabbed him by his coat and shoved him out. She turned to the rest of the men.

“Give me some alone time with the boys.”

She waited until they’d all left the warehouse then tucked the pistol into her pants. Her eyes went from Dean to Sam and back again. 

“Two Winchesters on lockdown; aren’t I the lucky one?”

“Screw you, bitch.”

They snarled the words in unison and she lifted an appreciative eyebrow. 

“Nicely done. I knew you guys were telepathic.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and ran a finger down Dean’s cheek. He didn’t flinch, just looked her right in the eye. The finger moved lower, tracing the bloody, ragged bullet wound down his side and breath whistled between his teeth. He still didn’t move.

“You throwing in some S&M with the bondage?”

Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What the fuck, Dean? You trying to put ideas into her head?”

Suzie’s head whipped round. “Shut up, Sam, or you’ll be spitting teeth.”

Sam yanked the cuffs in frustration. Why couldn’t Dean keep his mouth shut? Why did he poke and provoke like it was a matter of pride to take whatever beating was laid out on the table? Like he wasn’t beat up enough already…

Physically he was exhausted from the fight; emotionally he was a train wreck. The psychological repercussion of forced sex was something he might not be able to handle and Sam could see the fallout of that in Technicolor. The coming months of drinking, drugs and denial mixed up with silence, secrets and psychotic meltdowns… They’d walked that path before, always managed to get things back on track but this time he wasn’t so sure. 

He attempted to reason with Suzie, keeping his voice calm. 

“He’s not up to this. Give him time to get over the fight.”

She ignored him; straddled Dean and he grunted with pain. When he looked at Sam, there was dread in his eyes. 

“Don’t watch this.”

Sam stared at the floor. He had no desire to watch his brother getting raped, but sick curiosity pulled his eyes back to the bed. Suzie was running her hand through Dean’s hair.

“Don’t be frightened, honey. I want you to enjoy this.”

Dean didn’t respond but his face was a mask of revulsion. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a bottle and shook it gently. 

“How about some candy to help you settle, huh?”

With a shock, Sam realised what she was wafting under his brother’s nose. It was the painkillers and Dean was looking at them like a dog in a butcher’s shop. He opened his mouth to protest; tell Dean to resist, then thought better of it. 

Suzie was watching Dean closely. “How many do you need?”

Dean snorted. “Try the whole friggin’ bottle.”

“Be honest, Dean. We’re in OD territory here.”

Dean looked like he was about to say something smart then bit back the words with an effort. “Three gets the job done.”

“There you go. That wasn’t so hard.” 

She shook out the pills and offered them to him. Dean hesitated and threw a questioning look at Sam, almost like he was seeking approval. But this wasn’t Sam’s call. Three doses of high octane medication seemed excessive but if it helped Dean get through the ordeal, who was he to object? He shrugged helplessly and Dean winked at Suzie.

“Got any Jack to wash ‘em down?”

She patted his cheek gently. “I want you pliant, not comatose.”

She fed him the pills then sat beside him to wait. They both knew when the morphine kicked in because all tension left Dean’s body. His eyelids drooped and his jaw went slack. Sam called his name, had to call it several times before he got a reaction. Dean rolled his head slowly and blinked at him.

“You gotta try this shit, Sammy. It’s awesome.”

His words were slurred, his pupils the size of dimes. Suzie seemed satisfied with the result and when she climbed back on top he gave her a dopey smile.

“Hey Sugarlips; you look a hell of a lot better now.”

She slapped his face and he grinned. “Now you’re talking.”

Suzie had her hand on Dean’s fly when Sam closed his eyes. It was like witnessing date rape with his brother the roofied and unwitting victim. His heart was pounding, charged by frustration, anger and fear. Blood was rushing in his ears, blotting out any sounds from the bed and for that he was grateful. He got the shock of his life when a female voice rang through the silence of the warehouse.

“Suzie? What in the name of Christ are you doing?”

Sam’s eyes flew open to find a woman standing at the door of the cage. For a second he thought it was Suzie then realised the doppelganger was leaner, older and better dressed. Other than that they could have passed for twins. Suzie leaped off Dean like she’d been shot. She seemed genuinely embarrassed. 

“You said you weren’t gonna make it.”

“Looks like I made it just in time.” The newcomer approached the bed and studied Dean. “Why’s he handcuffed? What have you done to him?”

“She ain’t done nothing yet.” Dean considered for a moment then snickered softly. “B-b-b-baby…”

The woman looked at Suzie sharply. “You drugged him? Seriously?”

“What do you care? These are the Winchesters; neither of them are worth a crap.” 

Suzie turned to Sam, her voice loaded with sarcasm. “Meet my sister Kate. She’s been itching to meet you.”

“The man who killed our daddy, huh?” Kate scrutinised him for a long, uncomfortable moment. Can’t say it’s a pleasure, Sam.”

She was cool, sardonic and Sam tensed. Physically she was a few grades up from Suzie; psychologically she might be just as unstable. He had no way of knowing. He decided to give honesty a shot.

“I’m sorry about your daddy but I was possessed by a demon. She controlled me, used me to kill him and I don’t remember any of it. Afterwards she made me shoot Dean, my own friggin’ brother. Go check his shoulder and you’ll see.”

“A demon?” Kate shot a hard look at Suzie. “You didn’t mention any demon.”

“What does it matter?” Suzie sounded defensive. “This bastard murdered our kin and I don’t give a shit who was wearing him. All I know is that he’s gonna pay.”

“What happened to mitigating circumstances?”

Suzie was incredulous. “Seriously?”

Kate pulled Dean’s shirt up gingerly. He opened his eyes and his gaze shifted slowly between the two women. He seemed confused, then he looked euphoric. 

“I’m cuffed to a bed with the Double Mint twins? There’s a God after all.”

Kate stiffened as she took in the bruises all over his body. The older bullet wound was barely noticeable alongside the recent one, which was bleeding again. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to the injury. 

“He should be in the hospital.”

Suzie snorted. “Not gonna happen.”

“Then go get the medical kit. I know you got one the size of Hollywood in your trunk.”

“I’m not wasting supplies on him.”

“Do as you’re told, dammit.” 

Kate’s voice was harsh and boded no argument. Suzie glared for a moment them stomped out of the cage, pouting like a teenager. Sam considered the implications of the exchange. 

“She listens to you?”

“Sometimes.” Kate turned back to Dean. “He’s a mess. What happened?”

“Suzie locked him in a pit with two heavyweights.” Sam couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “She shot him, fed him drugs and was all set to rape him. Real nice sister you’ve got there.”

Kate looked at him appraisingly. “Suzie isn’t exactly the full ticket but she’s got a point. Why should you get away with murder, Sam?”

Sam yanked the handcuffs in frustration. “She’s hurting me by hurting Dean and he had nothing to do with it. Punish me however you want but for Christ’s sake let him go. He doesn’t deserve this.”

The sound of his voice roused Dean from his stupor. “Shut your pie hole, Sammy. It’s my fault we’re in this mess. I didn’t clean up properly.”

Sam frowned. “What the hell are you talking about, Dean?”

“You’re the one getting out. Don’t matter what happens to me, I’m not important…” Dean’s voice tailed off. His moment of clarity was over. 

“He’s got a low opinion of himself.” Kate sounded amused and Sam bit back a retort. Dean’s self-worth issues were none of her concern.

“You two are hunters?”

Sam blinked at her, surprised. “You’re not?”

“Got out when I was twenty. I went to college, got a regular job but Suzie decided to stick with it.” Kate shrugged. “She wasn’t always like this. She was a sweet kid, full of dreams and ambitions… Hunting fucks everybody up eventually, if it don’t get them killed first.”

Wasn’t that the truth. Sam felt a pang of nostalgia for the life he’d briefly tried to live. “I tried to get out as well, went to Stanford for a couple of years but….”

“But?”

Sam gazed at Dean, comatose on the bed. “My brother needed me.”

“You two are close?”

“We look out for each other.” Sam forced down an unexpected surge of emotion. “I’m truly sorry about your daddy; ours got killed by a demon a few months back.”

“How?”

Sam wanted to shrink away from the memory but it seemed important she know this. 

“Dean was dying. He made a deal with a demon called Azazel, traded his life so Dean could live.”

He was half expecting Dean to chip in again but his brother was in a better place right now. The bullet wound was still leaking and Kate looked at it doubtfully.

“Can you patch him up?”

“If Suzie lets me at him.” Sam smiled sourly. “We’re both going to die unless somebody stops her; you know that, right? Do you want that much blood on your hands?”

Kate considered for a long moment. “Jury’s out on that one, Sam.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dean paced the floor of the cage, battling the emotions which were threatening to engulf him. He felt like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at the slightest provocation and, from the look on Sam’s face, his brother felt it too.

The dose of painkillers Suzie administered had worn off hours ago. Dean’s watch had gotten broken in the pit but last time he’d asked Sam for the time, it was past midnight. A full moon filtered through the skylights, bathing the cage in cool, white light and its angle had shifted significantly since then. He didn’t dare ask Sam again though. His brother would wonder why it was so important at the same instant his super-size brain skidded into the first base of certainty. Dean didn’t want to get back into that particular conversation. 

He knew his body was adjusting to the drugs; the highs were getting shorter while the downtime was increasingly hard to bear. It might not have been the smartest move to toss down three pills, more than he’d ever taken in one hit, but he’d honestly thought he was about to get raped in front of his brother. The humiliation was worse than the violation and the only way he could handle that was to get wasted. Once he was under he was barely aware of anything but now he was left feeling wrung out and dislocated; a few sketchy memories rattling inside a brain which was consumed by finding a way to its next fix.

Fix was an ugly word, made him sound like a street corner junkie and wasn’t that exactly what Sam accused him of right here in this cage? Ugly or not, though, it was just a word. Words he could deal with; the devouring need for more pills was only going to end up one way. Bloody.

It would be easy to take this out on Sam, the only target within range, but Sam wasn’t a target: couldn’t be. None of this was Sam’s fault, though the way he refused to meet Dean’s eyes told a different story. They’d both said some regrettable things during the earlier fight but Dean’s reckless words, designed mostly to hurt, had hit their mark squarely. He wanted to call Sam on it, remind him in no uncertain terms who _really_ fucked up the Steve Wandell case, but he didn’t trust himself to say it right. He didn’t want this fragile peace, this moment of calm before the gathering storm to deteriorate into another in-house brawl so he kept his mouth shut and watched Sam beat himself up in silence. 

Dean wanted to fight, needed to fight, but he was saving that for the bastards who really deserved it. By focussing his rage on the casual, calculating brutality of his tormentors, anticipating his fists smashing through the frustrations of captivity, he could just about stay rational. It also allowed him to contain the worst, most insidious emotion; the one capable of taking him out completely if he yielded to it. Dean Winchester didn’t acknowledge fear, simple as that. He’d learned to twist and contort it into something he could use constructively. Whenever he felt threatened he’d deftly turn flight into fight and go on the offensive with all guns blazing. It worked well for him, let him deal with danger effectively; especially those situations which involved protecting Sam. And really, wasn’t protecting Sam the only thing that had ever mattered? 

The threat of something bad happening to his brother however, something he had no power to control or prevent, was potentially incapacitating. Just thinking about it made his knees go weak and his stomach churn. His mind swerved away from it with the screech of rubber on blacktop and he stole another glance across the cage. 

Sam was perched on the edge of the bunk, taut as a rope, gazing out into the shadows of the warehouse with his eyes fixed on the door. Dean knew why. He’d gotten a brief rundown of events while he’d been away in cuckoo land, learned how the arrival of an older, saner sister had saved both his virtue and further blood loss, but he didn’t share any of Sam’s optimism in the small acts of mercy. He stopped pacing for long enough to offer his brother some insight. 

“She ain’t gonna help us, man. Give it up.”

Sam didn’t move. “I thought I’d gotten through to her.”

Dean snorted. “She’ll side with her sister, that’s how it works.”

“It’s how we work, Dean. It’s not a universal truth.”

“Smell the coffee, dude. The only way out of this is you and me.”

Sam didn’t even look at him. “Have a little faith.”

Dean’s mouth quirked with amusement. Faith and Nebraska were inexorably bound together in his world. Holding hands, singing nursery rhymes and skipping merrily towards the dark place. 

“Last time I got a look at faith it looked like a reaper. I wasn’t far off dying that time either.”

That got the kind of reaction he was after. Sam’s head whipped round and his eyes were blazing. 

“You’re not dying, Dean.”

Dean shrugged. “How long ‘til the next fight?”

He didn’t need to elaborate; they both knew he was unlikely to leave the pit a second time with nothing more than bruises and a superficial bullet wound. Sam glanced at his watch and frowned; gazed at Dean for a long moment before replying.

“How are you feeling?”

Dean flexed his body experimentally. He was stiff and aching; the stitches in his side felt sore and tight but his brother had performed an effective patch up job. He’d proven incapable of lifting anything useful from the loaned medical kit, but Dean didn’t call him on that one either. Sam claimed he’d conducted the first aid at gunpoint and Dean believed it. He offered a confident grin and threw a few shadow punches.

“I’m good to go, Sammy. Float like a butterfly, sting like a badass.”

Sam didn’t smile. “That’s not what I meant.”

Dean leaned against the bars of the cage and crossed his arms defensively. He knew where this was headed.

“You charging by the hour, Doctor Freud?”

Sam scowled. “It’s a simple question, Dean.”

Dean’s fuse was a damned sight shorter than usual these days and he bristled at the accusation in his brother’s tone.

“What do you want me to say? That I feel great and everything’s peachy? How I honestly believe, in spite of _all_ evidence to the contrary, that some chick on a unicorn is gonna ride through that door and save our rainbow?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It ain’t happening, dude. Pretty soon things are gonna get bloody and I don’t need you screwing around inside my head.”

For a moment Sam looked like he was going to press the issue but then he closed his mouth with a snap. He stood up and motioned at the bunk.

“Then a least get some rest.”

Dean knew that was out of the question with his body’s insistent, incessant demand for drugs. His instinct was to swat Sam away with a smartass comment, but he recognised the gesture of compromise and peace keeping. He stomped ungraciously to the bunk and threw himself down. He winced and cursed as the action jarred his injuries and felt Sam’s eyes on him, full of remorse. It made his skin crawl. He put his hands behind his head, feigning nonchalance and kept the irritation out of his voice.

“What’s on _your_ mind, Sammy?”

Sam coughed and shuffled, studied the floor for a spell and finally spat it out.

“When you were… uh… tripping, you said something about not cleaning up properly. What did you mean?”

Dean wracked his memories for the exchange and came up empty, which was hardly surprising. He looked sharply at Sam, panic fluttering at the edges of his mind.

“Whatever I said, I didn’t mean it, okay? I was off my fucking tits.”

Sam shot him a wan smile. “You were trying to help, Dean. Trying to tell me how this isn’t all my fault.”

Dean sat up quickly. “It’s _not_ your fault, Sammy. You keep thinking like that and I swear to God, I’ll kick your ass into next week.”

Sam shook his head, dismissing the statement, but his words had shaken loose a fragment of memory and Dean tracked it back to the night in Steve Wandell’s house. He recalled trying to destroy the evidence of Sam’s crime while worrying about the clean-up operation and battling shock, nausea and crippling concern for his brother. Most of that night was a blur and he’d done his best to repress the things he remembered with clarity, but one incident refused to stay down. That’s the one he’d unwittingly blurted out while riding the high of too many damned painkillers. He added it to the rapidly expanding list of bullet points beneath the heading: _reasons to flush those fuckers down the nearest crapper_.

Sam coughed again, drawing his attention back to the uncomfortable atmosphere in the cage. His brother was expecting some kind of answer and God knew Dean owed him one. His fingers worried at the bandage covering the bullet wound as he struggled to find the right words.

“That night at Steve Wandell’s place… you were out of it. You’d just watched some demon wearing your body murder a man and it shut you down. I was supposed to take care of that mess and get us the hell out…”

Dean hunched forward on the bunk, massaging his temples as the memory pulled into sharp focus.

“That damned computer, man… I threw it on the floor, put my boot through it but it wasn’t enough. I should have gotten the hard drive and tossed it in a lake, not left it there for somebody to salvage.”

He looked up at Sam, met his eyes squarely. 

“I put myself in that pit, Sam. If I’d cleaned up properly nobody would have known what went down so you take every piece of guilt you got and lay it on me, okay? I should have known better, I fucked up and I got us into this.”

Sam was staring at him incredulously.

“Christ, Dean, why do you put everything on yourself? Why do you throw yourself in front of everything bad?”

Dean shot him a lop-sided smile. “Because it’s my job.”

He looked away as Sam approached; anticipating a chick flick moment which he really couldn’t handle in his current frame of mind. He felt Sam flop down on the bunk beside him, felt his brother’s shoulder bump against his own in a show of unity. When he finally spoke, Sam’s voice was subdued. 

“I don’t deserve a brother like you.”

Dean snorted. “Can I get that in writing?”

Sam’s arm snaked round his shoulder and pulled him close. Dean went with it, fighting the instinct to squirm away. He didn’t do this kind of thing well but Sam needed it so tried to relax into the embrace. This close he could feel Sam trembling and that was most definitely not a good thing. He glanced across at his brother.

“What’s up, man?”

It took Sam a while to respond and Dean could hear his breath hitching.

“You said some things, Dean…”

Dean had said a lot of things and he waited; mouth dry and heart hammering while Sam worked up to an elaboration. Eventually he spat it out. “Do you really think I hate you enough to kill you?”

Dean froze. He remembered saying that while he was hurting, jonesing, angry and confused. It would be difficult to take back.

“I told you, man, it was the pills talking. But…”

Sam’s hand on his shoulder twitched reflexively. “But?”

“I showed up on your doorstep at Stanford. I pulled you out of a life you’d built for yourself, a _better_ life, and dragged you back into this fucked up mess we call home. If you hate me for that then I get it. I wish to God I’d had the strength to go after Dad on my own but I couldn’t do it alone, man. I needed help and you were the only one I could turn to. The only one who’d understand.”

Dean felt himself tensing, trying to draw away and Sam’s arm clenched tighter; holding him close. He continued hesitantly, trying not to choke on the words. 

“Now Dad’s… He died for me, Sam and I don’t even know where to start dealing with that. You’re all I’ve got left, man; if I lose you, push you away or you somehow… change, then the game’s up. Everyone I care about will be gone and what the hell’s worth living for then?”

Dean caught the rising swell of emotion and forced it back down. It was a sign of weakness, it wasn’t his thing. He’d shared more with Sam than he meant and it left him wide open and vulnerable. He wasn’t accustomed to feeling so exposed and put that down to the drugs. They were making him sloppy; boring holes in his carefully constructed defences and letting flashes of honesty through. He didn’t like it; it was another reason to quit and he added it to his bullet list. He shoved Sam’s arm aside, stalked across the cage and laid his head against the metal of the bars. 

“You think you’re the only one who feels that way?”

Sam’s voice was rock steady and Dean turned to face him, frowning. 

“I lost Jess, man. There was nothing for me back at Stanford; that life was over. I needed to find Dad just as bad as you and I’m still trying to figure out how to survive without him. One thing’s for sure though; I couldn’t go on without you either, Dean.”

Dean stared at him and Sam smiled. 

“If you weren’t such an emotional retard, you’d know this is a two way street.”

Sam looked like he was about to say more but the grind of the warehouse door opening got both their attention. Sam leaped up and peered through the bars of the cage, way too eager and Dean took his place on the edge of the bunk. He wasn’t giving those bastards the satisfaction of a reaction. He couldn’t see who was approaching as they were carrying a lamp and his eyes, accustomed to shadows and moonlight, were having a hard time adjusting. It wasn’t until they were right outside the cage that he recognised Tim; loaded with pizza boxes, water bottles and a plastic bucket. There was a woman standing beside him, holding a camping lantern. She looked enough like Suzie for him to do a fast double take before he realised this must be the sister, Kate. She raised the lamp higher, casting its light across the bunk and Dean knew he was being scrutinized. After the near miss with Suzie, the attention made him uneasy and apprehensive but he didn’t let on. He stared right back at her.

“You want me cuffed to this thing as well?”

His tone was mocking but Sam whirled round to face him, his eyes blazing. 

“Shut the fuck up, Dean!”

Dean ignored him, his eyes still on Kate. “Well?”

She shook her head slightly. “Not my style.”

Dean could tell by the way her gaze lingered on him, appreciative and keen, that this was more than a casual inspection. Maybe he could use that to his advantage. He shot her his most disarming smile, the one he spent half his adolescence perfecting in motel mirrors, and addressed her in a lazy drawl. 

“You let us out of here, sweetheart, I’ll be sure and thank you properly.”

Her lips twitched in amusement. “I let you out and my sister will kill me.”

Dean caught her eye and held it for a long moment. “Something to think on though, huh?”

She didn’t reply. Instead she pushed the lamp through the bars and placed it on the floor. It filled the cage with a warm, yellow glow.

“I figured you boys could use a little light.”

Neither one of them thanked her and the silence was getting awkward when Tim dumped the shit he was carrying on the ground. He opened a small panel set into the base of the cage door, Dean hadn’t noticed it before, and shoved the boxes, bottles and bucket through. He eyed Dean cautiously.

“Suzie didn’t want to waste food on you but I talked her round. Managed to scrounge up some pizza, figured it’d help with… you know…”

His voice tailed off and Dean smirked as understanding hit home.

“Who’d you do it for, Tim? Me or you?”

Tim ducked his head. “I said I was sorry, Dean. When I got into this I didn’t know how far she’d go.”

Dean nodded. “Now you’ve got the big picture, what you gonna do about it?”

Tim shrugged helplessly and Dean pressed the advantage. “You owe me, man. You wouldn’t be drawing breath if it wasn’t for me.”

Tim still wouldn’t look at him. “You think I don’t know that?”

Dean was expecting Kate to head this conversation off at the pass but when he glanced over he found her following the exchange raptly. He tried a different approach.

“Next time they put me in that pit, I ain’t walking out with cuts and bruises. Chances are I won’t be walking at all. You know that, right?”

He was addressing them both but it was Kate who finally replied.

“Those gorillas Suzie recruited; they’re watching playback of the fight on loop, studying your moves.”

Dean wasn’t surprised by the news but he was overwhelmed by the magnitude of the challenge it presented. Next time he’d be up against men who knew exactly what he was going to do before he did it. He wasn’t sure he could change his fighting style on the fly, not with two or more fuckers coming at him and he rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. Sam came to sit beside him, offering support. He sounded as anxious as Dean was feeling.

“If you know what Suzie’s planning you’ve got to tell us. Give Dean a chance at least.”

Tim was shaking his head. “She only talks to Nathan and Toby. She don’t tell me nothing.”

Abruptly Nathan’s voice was right inside Dean’s head, his recent promise ringing loud and clear.

_You’ll get something challenging next time._

He broke out in a sweat and was thankful he was seated because his legs turned to jelly. His head was spinning, his hands shaking and the only coherent thought running through his brain was how much he needed the bottle of pills. Two would take care of all his doubts, three would definitely...

He pulled himself together with an effort. As he re-entered normal space he discovered Sam looking at him, face pinched with concern and lips pursed tightly together. Kate and Tim were watching with something approaching pity and he realised, belatedly, he’d just revealed something important. He’d given them a glimpse of his inner turmoil, revealed a hint of weakness and he covered up hastily. He pasted a sneer to his face, got to his feet and raised his chin defiantly. 

“What you all looking at? The friggin’ Elephant Man?”

He picked up the nearest box and flipped the lid open. The pizza inside was cold and greasy; an unappetising mix of dried out pepperoni and congealed cheese. His empty stomach growled its approval anyway and he raised an eyebrow at Tim.

“This your idea of a last supper?”

“It’s better than nothing.” Tim spoke quietly but this time he met Dean’s eyes and held them.

“Next fight’s in two hours. They’re matching you up with those new guys but Suzie’s got something else planned, some kind of handicap.”

“What?” Dean’s stomach did a somersault. “What the fuck?”

Sam was beside him again, his voice hard as flint. “What kind of handicap?”

Tim didn’t answer and Kate spoke into the strained silence.

“I’ll see what I can find out. You need to eat, Dean.”

Dean ignored her, his eyes still on Tim. The guy was on the verge of some kind of epiphany and he tried to move it along.

“If you really want to help, you call Bobby Singer and tell him what’s going down. He’ll know what to do.”

“You think I’ve got a fucking death wish?” Tim’s voice was resolute, held a note of incredulity but the way his eyes slid across to Kate and back again, Dean knew the words were for her benefit. Her allegiances in this matter were sketchy at best so he played along, shrugging wearily.

“It’s your conscience, man.”

Kate pulled Tim away from the cage before he could reply and Dean watched them leave the warehouse and pull the door shut. For the first time since this nightmare began, he allowed himself to feel something approaching hope. Sam shut it down in a heartbeat.

“Can we trust Bobby? I mean, he sent us to Nathan and Toby, he vouched for them…”

Dean rounded on him, practically snarling the words. “ _We_ were stupid enough to get blindsided by those fuckers, you think Bobby’s above all that?”

“I was just saying.”

“You say anything like that again, Sam; I’ll bust your nose.”

Sam didn’t acknowledge the threat. He retrieved the other pizza box and water bottles. He eyed the bucket balefully.

“I’m guessing that’s the john.”

Dean snorted. “Don’t piss on the seat, Einstein.”

Sam sat on the bunk, opened the box and grimaced as he inspected the gloop inside. He picked out a slice and bit into it tentatively, studying Dean as he chewed.

“You think Tim’s gonna make the call?”

“I don’t know, man. If he had one grateful bone in his body he’d have made it hours ago.”

Sam cocked his head, his interest piqued. “What happened in New Orleans?”

Dean couldn’t help smirking as he recalled their earlier exchange. “I threw myself in front of something bad; got banged up real good.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “That voodoo case you were working? Right before you came to Stanford?”

Dean laughed without much humour. “Anything weird goes down in New Orleans, it’s _always_ friggin’ voodoo. This was in ‘04.”

“You gonna tell me about it?”

Dean sat beside him and took a bite of his own pizza. It tasted better than it looked and he stuffed half the slice into his mouth, glancing at his brother and talking round the food.

“Anything to keep my mind out of the pit, huh?”

_And off the pills._

Sam didn’t bother denying it and, honestly, Dean was grateful to his brother for providing a distraction. He was reaching for a second piece of pizza when Sam spoke again, his voice sombre.

“You’ve got to promise me something, Dean.”

Dean was certain this had nothing to do with New Orleans but he gave it a shot anyway. 

“You wanna daytrip at the St. Louis boneyard? It’s _on_ , man.”

Sam didn’t smile. “Promise me that whatever goes down in that pit, you won’t kill anyone.”

Dean considered it for all of half a second then shook his head. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”


	10. Chapter 10

It was just over an hour later when they came for him. Dean wasn’t ready, wasn’t mentally prepared, which was no doubt part of their strategy. Keeping him on edge and off balance was an effective way to play havoc with his focus and concentration; like the odds weren’t stacked against him already.

The story of what went down in Louisiana hadn’t taken long to impart; Sam got the abridged version now had an understanding, at least, of the depth of Tim Matthews’ debt. Whether Tim would have the guts to pay up was another matter and Dean’s brief conviction in the man had quickly evaporated. After all, he’d pretty much left Dean for dead in New Orleans, beaten to hell and surrounded by undead voodoo creatures. Even if Tim had made the call to Bobby immediately, and it was a big if, help wouldn’t arrive until after the next fight. Whichever way he looked at it, Dean was headed back into the pit and he estimated his chances as slim to none. 

Sam helped by talking through some strategies, offering tips on how Dean could modify his fighting style to at least keep his opponents on their toes, and he was grateful to his brother for that. But now it looked like the fight had been brought forward and there might be reasons other than to keep them wrong-footed. Dean had tried not to think about the handicap Suzie had lined up but, as Nathan and Toby approached the cage, it was the _only_ thing on his mind. His stomach felt hollow, sweat pricked at his brow so like he always did he kicked the feelings into a box and locked it tight. He met them at the door of the cage with an insolent smile.

“You assholes got an early death wish?”

Nathan was carrying his shotgun and he rammed the muzzle through the bars, catching Dean hard in the gut.

“Shut your mouth, smartass. Turn round and put your hands behind your back.”

Sam was beside him in a heartbeat. “How about you come in here and make him.”

The gun swung in Sam’s direction and Dean’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Back off, Sam. I don’t need a guard dog.”

“The hell you don’t.” Sam’s voice was full of menace but it wasn’t directed at Dean. He was staring at Nathan, a clear challenge on his face. “Put us both in the pit, then you’ll get the fight you want.”

Toby sniggered. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, son. Go sit on the bunk while we take care of your brother. Fuck us around and it’ll go worse for him.”

Sam didn’t budge and Dean sighed. “Do it, man. I’ll be okay.”

They both knew that wasn’t true and Sam stood there a few seconds longer, fists clenched and anger coming off him in waves. Eventually he stalked across the cage and sat down. If looks could kill Nathan and Toby wouldn’t just be six feet under, they’d be salted and burned for good measure.

Toby produced a set of handcuffs and made a swivelling motion with his forefinger. Dean sneered at him for long seconds before turning round slowly. He placed his hands behind his back after the third command and felt the cuffs snap onto his wrists. They were pulled uncomfortably tight; punishment for insolence, then the door to the cage was unlocked and he was dragged out. He shot a look at Sam, who looked mutinous.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Sammy. You hear me?”

Sam’s gaze swung over and there was fire in his eyes. “You make sure you kill those fuckers this time, Dean. You do it for me.”

“You got it, man.”

He said it with a conviction he didn’t feel. Sam probably didn’t mean it anyway; it was just the anger and fear talking. Not that it mattered since he had no intention of holding anything back in the pit. It’d be a hell of a lot easier to do what needed doing if he truly had the moral support of his brother though. No repercussions that way. 

The moon was low in the sky as he was prodded across a wide section of waterlogged grass. It was the first time Dean had gotten a look at his surroundings, though Sam told him they were in some kind of derelict amusement park. He could see the outlines of broken down rides and booths in the dim light. He shivered; it was cold and he was wearing nothing but jeans and a ripped, blood-stained tee shirt. He felt light headed and spaced out, a combination of blood loss and drug withdrawal, and he tried not to trip as he slipped and stumbled through the mud. 

They were headed towards a carousel and Dean didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned they hadn’t gone straight to the pit. There were lights on inside the control building behind the ride and he knew from the faded paint and chipped plaster on the carnival horses that this place hadn’t been used in years. He was led round to the door and Nathan gave a cursory knock before throwing it open and pushing him inside. He was following so closely that when Dean pulled up in surprise, he barged into him with enough force to knock him to his knees. That earned him a hard cuff round the back of his head.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole.”

Dean barely felt it. He struggled to his feet, staring at Suzie Wandell while his stomach twisted up in knots. She was sprawled in a chair, feet up on a long wooden table, a bottle of whisky and two glasses in front of her. He glanced round the room, which seemed to be serving as the gang’s headquarters. There was a ratty couch along one wall with an AV rig and camcorder set up in front of it, chairs. Food cartons and beer crates were strewn about and a gas heater blew out fumes in the corner. In spite of the warmth, Dean shivered again. Suzie noticed his unease.

“Easy there, stud. You’re not here for sex, not this time. But don’t think you’re off the hook.”

If that was supposed to make Dean feel better, it wasn’t working. He stared at her apprehensively.

“This got something to do with…”

Dean caught himself just in time. He wasn’t supposed to know about the handicap, any of Suzie’s plans for that matter. He didn’t want to jeopardise the fragile alliance he might have forged with Tim by spilling his guts at the first opportunity and back-pedalled hastily.

“Where’s your sister? She bailed on you already?”

“She’ll be back for the main event.” Suzie nodded at Toby. “Give our boy a little freedom. We need to talk.”

Toby clumped into the room and slammed the door. He unlocked the cuff on Dean’s left wrist, pulled his arms roughly in front of him and re-attached it. It wasn’t much of an improvement, not while Nathan and his shotgun were sharing the same space, but it gave Dean something to work with. Toby pushed him into a seat opposite Suzie and grunted a command.

“Keep your hands on the table. Move and I’ll break your fingers.”

Dean obliged and watched suspiciously as Suzie filled the glasses with whisky. She pushed one towards him and he eyed it balefully. 

“Last drink for the condemned?”

She smiled. “Don’t sell yourself short, honey.”

Dean raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “In case you’d forgotten, I’m down a couple pints of blood.”

Suzie drained her glass and poured a refill. “I need you focussed in that pit, Dean; on top of your game. For your brother’s sake you’re going to put on a good show.”

Dean reached for the glass, briefly wondered if alcohol was a good idea right now then figured what the hell. He tossed it back as he considered Suzie’s words. 

“If I can’t?”

She leaned across the table and poured him another drink. 

“You’re a fighter, Dean. You’ll get it up when it matters.”

Dean made short work of the second glass, feeling the burn of liquor in his throat and belly, embracing the first tendrils of inebriation. God knew he needed something to take the edge of his dread and foreboding. 

“And if I won’t jump through hoops?”

Suzie filled him up again. “It’s not negotiable. We can do it nicely or we can play hardball.”

Dean felt Toby and Nathan close in behind him and he stiffened, every nerve in his body jangling. Was this it? Were they about to hobble him or something worse? Suzie saw his expression change and she frowned.

“Why so tense, Dean? I thought you’d appreciate this.”

She reached into her pocket and placed the bottle of painkillers on the table.

“I know you’re hurting, honey; I know you’re jonesing but this’ll make everything good. You take as many as you need.”

She slid the bottle across the table and Dean glowered. “Fuck you.”

But his heart was hammering and his hand had closed on the bottle, drawing it close before she changed her mind. Was this the handicap? Something as simple as jacking him up? She might be thinking it would slow him down, make him dopey like she’d witnessed in the cage and he suppressed a smile. She didn’t know he’d been using for weeks. Which meant she’d just fucked up big.

He was about to pop the cap when his rational mind woke up. Fighting on painkillers was risky; he wouldn’t know how bad he was getting hurt and they took out all vestiges of self-control. Neither bothered Dean much; in a kill or be killed situation there was only one way to go, regardless of what Sammy might prefer. Painkillers mixed with alcohol sharpened him up in all the right places and that’s what he needed right now. Consequences be damned. 

He shook out two pills, shoved them into his mouth and chased them down with whisky.

“See, that wasn’t so hard.” Suzie reached across the table for the pills but Dean didn’t release them.

“How about I hold onto these? I’ll need them later.”

Nathan’s voice growled in his ear. “How about I bust your arm; you son of a bitch.”

In spite of his new found confidence, Dean’s stomach lurched and he turned in the chair to face his tormentor. “Is that the plan? Hobble me, throw me in the pit and film two assholes taking me apart”

Nathan stared blankly and Dean snorted. “Something to jerk off to at night, right?”

Nathan didn’t rise to the challenge. He clapped a heavy hand on Dean’s shoulder and pushed him forward in the chair. 

“Eyes front, asshole.”

There was a smile pulling at Suzie’s lips. “Why Dean, what a nasty mind you have. As if we’d do something that low...”

But he’d seen the shadow of suspicion cross her face and cursed silently. Why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? Now she knew somebody had ratted and would be gunning for Tim. So much for a rescue mission...

Suzie snapped her fingers. “Give me the pills, Dean. Do well on the next challenge and you’ll get more.”

Dean leaned back in his seat. “How about you come take them? I could use a little one on one action.”

That was the pills talking, dropping verbal bombs like these were casual pick-up lines tossed over a bar. Like Dean wasn’t in one of the most dangerous situations of his life.

Suzie raised her eyes, nodded and something slammed into Dean’s back, right between his shoulders. He figured it was the butt of the shotgun because Nathan’s voice was growling again. 

“This is me being nice, Winchester. Put the pills down or things’ll get messy.”

The threat barely registered, not with the booze and pills working their magic. They over-rode the bleak certainty and numbing inevitability of his plight and now Dean could see possibilities. If Nathan was using the shotgun as a battering ram, it meant the business end was turned the other way…

He might have miscalculated, but was willing to play the odds he’d been given. He grabbed the bottle of whisky, surged up from his chair, pivoted and smashed it into the side of Nathan’s head. The glass didn’t break but Nathan went down like a sack of shit, the gun skittering across the floor and fetching up against the wall. Dean made a dive for it, actually had his fingers on it when Toby’s bulk landed on top of him, crushing him against the grimy floorboards. The air was forced from his lungs and he struggled to draw breath while Toby’s fists pounded his ribs like jackhammers. 

The weight pinning him to the floor shifted, he was rolled onto his back and then Toby was on him again. In spite of the flare of pain from his ribs, the shortness of breath, Dean was thinking strategically. As Toby raised his fist for another blow, Dean got the chain of the handcuffs round his neck. He pulled Toby down at the same moment he jack-knifed off the floor and head butted his opponent on the bridge of his nose. The spray of blood hit Dean full in the face as Toby jerked back, hands flying to his nose. Dean got his right knee up, rammed it into Toby’s side and in a move dredged up from his short-lived wrestling days, flipped them both deftly. He landed on top and began raining blows on any part of Toby he could get at, cursing steadily the whole time. This felt good. It felt _right._

He stopped only when something hard jabbed into his temple and he heard the shotgun being cocked. Suzie’s voice was shaky but there was no mistaking the steel in her tone.

“Get off him, Dean, or so help me I’ll blow your brains out.”

Dean sat back and wiped his face, smearing blood across it. He looked her up and down appraisingly.

“How’d you like it up close and personal, sweetheart? Does it get your motor running?” 

He turned his voice lewd, intent on unnerving her some more. “It sure gets mine running. How about you get down here and make yourself useful?”

Suzie didn’t respond, though she seemed repelled by his display. Her finger was on the trigger of the gun, rock steady and Dean waited for the shot; honestly didn’t care if it came or not anymore. 

The stalemate lasted for long seconds, was broken by the sound of rapidly approaching feet. Suzie was pushed aside and then Nathan was looming over Dean, looking monumentally pissed. He tugged the gun from Suzie’s hands. 

“Say hello to your old friend, Winchester.”

He was about to ram the weapon into Dean’s head when Suzie called out sharply.

“Don’t you do it, Nathan. I need him conscious.”

“He’s like a rabid dog.” Nathan’s voice was a low, disgusted snarl and he kicked Dean in the thigh. “Get off him asshole; do it slow.”

Dean was looking right down the muzzle of the gun. Suzie might see him as an essential piece of entertainment but Nathan clearly did not. Taking both barrels in the head didn’t seem like such a great idea anymore and he stood up slowly. Free of his weight, Toby groaned and cursed but didn’t get up. Part of Dean was proud about that and he smirked at Nathan. 

“Where do you want me now? Back on the leash or rolling over for the bitch there?”

When Suzie slapped his face, Dean knew he’d gotten to her. 

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Things getting away from you?”

“You mind your tongue, you bastard.” Suzie’s voice was hard and flat. “This is what I get for being considerate?”

Dean snorted. “No lady, this is what you get for feeding me drugs and booze. Pretty, ain’t it?”

He took a step forward, trying to press his advantage but Suzie didn’t budge.

“I’m not scared of you, Dean.”

Dean smiled. “No? You should be.”

Then Nathan was between them. Dean got a hard, unexpected fist in the face and he staggered backwards, fetching up sprawled on the couch. Nathan stood menacingly over him.

“Quit yapping or I’ll muzzle you.”

He turned to Suzie. “Go fetch the others. This fight is happening now.”

Suzie glared. “You giving me orders, Nathan? You forgetting who’s running this show?”

Nathan shrugged. “You wanna be left alone with the psycho?”

Suzie’s eyes darted across to Toby, motionless on the floor, then back to Dean. He winked at her.

“’ll show you a good time while he’s gone. What do you say?”

Her expression turned icy but it didn’t reach her eyes. They were uncertain and wary. “You’ll regret this, Dean.”

Dean didn’t flinch. He had the measure of her now and he didn’t hide the contempt in his voice. 

“Promises, promises…”


	11. Chapter 11

Sam had been here before, cuffed to the guard rail above the pit. The new hunters brought him here, twenty minutes after Dean was dragged off to God knew where, and Sam was too worried to offer any kind of attitude or resistance. All he wanted was to know Dean was okay; hadn’t been raped, crippled, or worse, but his questions, pleas and demands fell on deaf ears. His captors acted like he wasn’t there, unless he didn’t move quickly enough, then they communicated with their fists. 

The logical part of Sam’s brain was telling him these newcomers wouldn’t have bothered studying the previous fight if they thought the upcoming bout would be a walkover, but that small oasis of sanity was addled by doubt. He could only imagine what might be happening to his brother while he was stuck up here, useless and trapped. It made him feel sick.

Sam yanked at the handcuffs in frustration, succeeding only in aggravating the bruises and cuts on his wrists. He scrutinised his surroundings, squinting under the dim sodium lights for anything that would serve as a lock pick and came up empty. Even if he’d spotted a loose nail in the decaying floorboards, he couldn’t bend low enough to prise it up.

In desperation, he resorted to the thing he swore he’d never do willingly. He’d managed telekinesis once before in circumstances not dissimilar to these; scared out of his wits after a vision of Dean’s imminent death. Now he was more than ready to try it again. Dean would be appalled if he knew, would never forgive Sam for attempting it but he didn’t care. 

Sam noticed how his brother sometimes watched him with a mixture of suspicion and unease. Dean was terrified of his psychic abilities; saw them as unnatural, dangerous and beyond either of their control. Dean believed they were changing Sam into something he didn’t recognise and couldn’t help, that using them with intent was hastening the inevitable. Sam couldn’t find it in his heart to disagree but right now he didn’t have much choice in the matter.

After several minutes of straining with force enough to threaten a prolapse, he gave up on it. Telekinesis wasn’t happening and he wasn’t surprised. Things usually got weird when the Yellow Eyed Demon was involved and while there were certainly demons at work here, this time they’d come in human form.

He’d been waiting alone for ten minutes when the door of the pit clanked open. He peered into the gloom below, heart hammering, dreading what might be coming through it. When Dean was shoved inside Sam almost cried with relief. His brother wasn’t only standing; he was snarling abuse as the door slammed closed. He looked both mutinous and monumentally pissed off. The handcuffs were gone and other than blood and a new bruise on his face, Dean seemed in no worse shape than before. Sam called to him and his head whipped up.

“Sammy? You okay? Did those fuckers hurt you?”

Sam couldn’t help smiling. Some things never changed. “Quit worrying about me. Is that your blood?”

“Nah.” Dean scrubbed an arm across his face. “I busted Toby’s nose. Son of a bitch had it coming.”

He sounded brash and arrogant. It made Sam uneasy. 

“What did they do to you?”

Dean shrugged. “Roughed me up a little; played some half-assed mind games and I told them to get fucked. I don’t scare that easy.”

He laughed; a hollow, unsettling sound. After four long weeks, Sam was beginning to recognise this behaviour. 

“Was Tim there?”

Dean shook his head. “I told you he was a sackless piece of shit.”

Sam’s stomach twisted. It seemed that particular escape possibility had been closed to them permanently. 

“Then we’ve got to find another way out.”

“You got a plan, Sammy, I’m all ears.” Dean gave it a couple of beats then cupped a hand to his ear. “It’s awful quiet up there.”

Sam was irritated. He needed Dean’s help and support but knew it was unlikely to be forthcoming. His brother had been hiding behind a chemical shield for too long and now the addiction was being manipulated; used against him. Whether he’d asked for it or not, Dean was hopped up. Again. 

“How many did you take?”

Sam couldn’t keep the accusation from his voice and Dean’s eyes narrowed.

“Who the fuck’s counting?”

He turned his back and stalked to the other side of the pit. Sam noticed he was limping and his left arm was pressed against his ribs. The last fight had taken a heavy toll; the blood covering his shirt and jeans testament to how much he’d lost. That would compromise his stamina and strength; the concussion he’d been hiding would do the same for balance and speed. Then there was the pain to factor in… When weighed against the ordeal his brother was about to face, Sam couldn’t pretend the pills were anything but a blessing. 

“I’m not judging you, dude.” His voice sounded contrite as it echoed through the cavernous space. “Tim mentioned some kind of handicap and… Is this what he meant?”

The casual but chilling threat had been on Sam’s mind ever since it was dropped in the cage. He knew it had freaked Dean out, felt guilty for bringing it up again but his brother seemed to accept the backdoor apology because he came back over, moving easier now. 

“They gave me pills and booze, thought it’d make me sloppy. Their mistake.”

Sam hoped so, even if Suzie didn’t seem the type to make mistakes. They wouldn’t have been captured so easily if she were. Dean’s confidence was encouraging though and he attempted to bolster it. 

“Don’t go in all guns blazing, okay? You’ll run out of juice quicker this time so hold back, let the others do the heavy lifting.”

“Sure thing, coach.” Dean grinned and it wasn’t pleasant. “I’ll tap out if it gets too hairy.”

“Screw you, Dean.” Sam could feel his temper rising and he turned his head away before he said something he’d regret. As he did so he heard a light creak on the stairs behind, like someone was trying to sneak up on him. He tensed, squinting in the dim light and couldn’t see a damned thing. He threw out a challenge instead.

“I hear you so you might as well show yourself.”

He was hoping it was Tim paying a surreptitious call. His heart sank when Kate stepped onto the platform and the disappointment must have been obvious.

“Expecting somebody else?”

Sam stared at her coldly. “What are you doing here? Come to gloat?”

“Why would you think that?” Kate came closer and looked down into the pit. Dean was pacing restlessly, eyes on the ground and oblivious to her presence. She watched him intently for long enough that Sam got twitchy. One Wandell bitch on heat was bad enough. Two of them… 

“How’s he doing?”

The concern in her voice surprised him but Sam wasn’t buying it. “You asking me? You were there, weren’t you?”

“Actually, no. We needed supplies, Tim and I got the short straw.” 

Sam snorted. “Who sells supplies at 2am?”

“Who said we were buying?”

An unpleasant suspicion bubbled into Sam’s brain. “What kind of supplies, Kate?”

She shrugged. “The type you get in a clinic.”

Sam’s stomach did a full-on mambo. “You stole drugs?”

“I don’t know. Tim went inside, I was on lookout.” Her tone started out defensive but drifted into something approaching apprehension. “I guess Suzie was testing us both.”

Sam glanced at her sharply. “You think she suspects Tim?”

“She doesn’t trust him but he won’t sell her out. He hasn’t got the balls.”

Sam was getting a distinct sense of déjà vu and the blood in his veins felt like sludge. There was darkness swimming behind his eyes which he didn’t have the strength to fight anymore.

“Then I get to watch my brother die.”

“Nobody’s dying, Sam. This has gone far enough. I’m calling the cops.”

The overpowering sense of relief lasted all of two seconds. In the same instant Sam realised they had an ally and might have a way out, the reality of the situation slammed home. 

“You can’t do that.”

She stared incredulously. “Why not?”

“Dean’s wanted by the FBI. If you call the cops he’ll be arrested for murder, spend the rest of his life in supermax. I’m pretty sure he’d rather take his chances in the pit.”

Kate’s jaw dropped. “You’d better start talking, Sam. Who did he murder?”

“ _He_ didn’t murder anyone.” Sam was so damned tired of explaining that sorry scenario, though at least this time he might have an understanding ear. 

“It was a shape shifter; your daddy would have run into a few of those, right? Dean got landed with the rap because you can’t admit something like that exists; not without buying a one way ticket to the nut house.”

Kate, to her credit, didn’t try and call him on it. “Then I guess that other guy…”

“His name’s Bobby Singer.”

Sam knew he sounded way too eager as he rattled off Bobby’s number and watched Kate punch it into her cell phone. She snapped the device shut and shoved it in her pocket.

“I’ll duck out while the fight’s on; make the call while everyone’s occupied.” Her expression turned wary. “I don’t think Suzie suspects me yet, but she won’t stay blind forever.”

Sam knew Suzie would cotton on sooner rather than later. “You should get out of here, Kate. Head for South Dakota. Bobby can protect you.”

She shook her head. “If I split, she’ll know I ratted her out. She’ll move this whole operation someplace else.”

Sam recognised the truth in that and nodded wearily.

“There’s something else you should know, Sam…”

Dean chose that moment to stop pacing and look up. He zeroed in on Kate and smirked. 

“Looking for the hot seats?”

Kate shook her head. “I don’t want any more blood on my hands.”

“Come on darling, you don’t wanna miss the main feature.” Dean’s voice was playful but carried deadly menace. “I hear it’s a killer.”

Kate turned to Sam and spoke quietly. “What’s wrong with him?”

Sam lowered his own voice. “Your damned sister fed him more pills. He won’t say how many.”

“What is this, the whispering gallery?” Dean’s voice boomed round the pit, uncomfortably loud. “Somebody turn up the volume, will you?”

Kate darted a nervously glance towards the stairs and Sam shushed his brother impatiently.

“Keep it down, man. She’s trying to help.”

“Trying to help?” Dean scuffed at a patch of blood in the dirt. “It’s a little late for that.”

His voice was quieter now and Kate leaned over the rail. 

“Listen up, Dean. I’ve got some intel.”

“More than just a pretty face, huh?”

She ignored the jibe. “This fight is fixed worse than you know. Those other bastards are packing blades; they’ll use them if you give them reason.”

“Son of a bitch…”

Dean’s face lost some of its colour, not that there was much there to begin with. He took a few steps backwards and slipped on a patch of loose gravel. As he struggled to keep his footing Sam heard his grunt of pain, watched his left arm clamp more firmly across his ribs. He glared at Kate accusingly.

“He wasn’t hurting like that when he left the cage. What the hell happened?”

Kate looked uncomfortable. “They took him to the ops room and there was a fight. Toby’s bragging how he busted a few of his ribs.”

“Jesus Christ.” Sam’s legs felt weak. Dean’s voice drew his attention back to the pit before he could dwell on either of the recent revelations. His brother’s game face was back on and fully functioning. 

“Looks like a slasher flick tonight.” The enthusiasm in his voice hardly sounded forced at all. “My favourite type”

Kate wasn’t done with the data dump. “The knives are in their boots; think you can grab one?”

“Course I can, sweetheart. I’m the Wizard of freakin’ Oz.”

The ghost of a smile played at Dean’s lips but the lines of his face were hard and focussed. Sam knew he was thinking through some moves. He didn’t need to imagine the damage a blade could do in his brother’s hands, he’d seen it up close and personal enough times. Dean’s state of mind was all new though. 

“Dean, promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“What?” Dean sounded confused and aggravated. “What the hell do you want from me, man? Do it, don’t do it… You’re worse than a friggin’ prom date.” 

“Just shut up and listen.” Sam kept his voice level, trying not to agitate him further. “I’m not saying don’t try for a knife. Just use it… rationally. Don’t give them a reason to cut your throat.”

“Rationally?” Dean chewed on the word like it was a lemon. “This ain’t a checkers game I’m sitting down to.”

Sam didn’t rise to the challenge. This was one of Dean’s coping mechanisms; flippant and antagonistic in the face of extreme danger. It kept his mind focussed on the job and away from debilitating emotional investment. Unfortunately, Kate didn’t know Dean very well.

“Is he always such an ass?”

Sam hackles rose. “Only when his ass is on the line.”

Kate wasn’t going for it. The words she tossed into the pit were like grenades.

“You’re welcome, Dean. You can thank me later.”

She was angry but Sam also detected disappointment in her voice; like she’d expected Dean’s eternal gratitude for her services. Maybe there was something else there as well… 

Dean, for his part, was still playing the ass to perfection. “Remind me why I’m thanking you again?” He furrowed his brow in mock confusion. “For having a little more cheese on your cracker than psycho sis?”

“Shut _up_ , Dean.” Sam was getting pissed now. “She’s trying to help and Suzie will kill her if she finds out. Just quit talking and focus on the fight.” 

Kate’s expression was stony as Dean turned his back and flipped the bird. Sam watched her anxiously; convinced his brother had just alienated their only ally.

“Try and see it from his side. In half an hour he might be dead. This is Dean trying to deal.” 

Once again Kate’s eyes lingered too long in the pit and that was enough to clue Sam in to motives which weren’t entirely selfless. He coughed pointedly and she pulled her gaze away. 

“I need to go before I’m missed. You boys hang in there; I’ll call Bobby as soon as it’s safe.”

She was halfway down the stairs when she stopped and turned.

“What’s he like when he’s, you know… clean?”

Sam was sure she didn’t want to hear how Dean could be just as offensive, obnoxious and downright infuriating on his best days, so he shot her an encouraging smile. 

“He’s awesome.”

Five minutes after she’d left, Sam heard the rest of the gang tramping up the stairs. He called to Dean. 

“Heads up, man. They’re coming.”

Dean spread his arms wide. “Bring it on.”

Sam knew that was mostly for his benefit but hoped Dean really did feel some of that assurance. Suzie and Kate were first onto the platform, flanked by Nathan and Toby. The first thing Sam noticed was how they weren’t carrying guns or cameras. The second thing he noticed was Toby’s face; swollen up like a carnival balloon. That was Dean’s handiwork and he smirked.

“Did you miss the sign for the freak show?”

Toby might have scowled; it was hard to tell. Nathan stomped over and cuffed Sam hard round the head. 

“You Winchesters should learn to keep your traps shut.”

Sam snorted. “Or what? You’ll kill us?”

Suzie got between them and she seemed excited. “Feeling feisty, Sammy? Must be all that adrenalin. I bet you’re just itching for this fight to start?” 

It was Sam’s turn to scowl. “Screw you, bitch.”

“Isn’t that Dean’s line? Speaking of which…” She sauntered across to the rail. “How you doing down there, slugger? Ready to rock and roll?”

Dean grinned. “I prefer sex and drugs, but didn’t we try that already?”

Suzie turned away quickly, biting her lip and Sam smiled. One-nil to the Winchesters.

Nathan was watching and didn’t share Sam’s amusement. He pulled his coat aside to reveal a pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants.

“Just give me a reason to use it, sonny.”

Sam caught the implication. He could provoke them all he liked but Dean would buy the bullet. He dropped his eyes and Nathan sniffed dismissively. 

“That’s what I thought.”

Suzie walked round the platform and stopped above the pit door. “It’s show time, fellers. Open up, Tim.”

Like before, Dean’s opponents were a substantially heavier build. This pair were dressed light; wearing only tee shirts and pants. Dean might have ten or twelve years on them but they looked fit and muscular, like they worked out regularly. Dean despised gyms and the sneer on his face said it all.

“Look, Sammy; they sent rats.”

Sam would have laughed if Nathan’s warning wasn’t still ringing in his ears. He watched Dean sizing them up and tore his eyes away for long enough to keep tabs on the gang. Nathan, Toby and Suzie were leaning on the rail above the door; bunched together, talking softly and watching intently. They reminded him of vultures hovering over a kill site. Tim was coming up the stairs but he ducked his head when he saw Sam and vanished into the shadows on the far side of the platform. Kate was near the stairs, hanging back but close enough to feign interest in the fight. She caught his eye, gave an almost imperceptible nod and Sam turned back to the pit. 

He sent up a silent prayer that she’d get to make the call; then offered a second plea that there’d actually be something left for Bobby to rescue.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean could work a hustle like a professional grifter; he was a born natural and Sam envied his brother’s ability to slip on that mask with such ease. It allowed him to smooth talk and scam authorities and public alike and he made it look effortless. All out acting, on the other hand, was a hit or miss affair. Dean could play simple incarnations and exaggerations of himself; but take it outside his limited comfort zone and, more often than not, he blew it on a minor technicality.

Sam wasn’t sure exactly what he was witnessing now, but Dean was convincing enough to scare him shitless. He’d taken a couple of minor hits to the face, was bleeding from a superficial cut on his temple but had so far managed to avoid any major physical contact. That seemed more like luck than strategy since he was slow and unsteady; shaking his head and rubbing his eyes like he was having trouble focussing. For the past few minutes he’d been stumbling round like a wounded animal while his opponents kept their distance; studying him and biding their time. Dean’s left arm was clamped across his chest, signalling the rib injuries and he might as well have painted a sign on himself which said _punch here._

Sam was having trouble believing this was the same loud-mouthed asshole who’d pissed Kate off only minutes before. Dean’s confidence and bravado vanished shortly after the fight got underway and Sam’s stomach knotted up as he realised his brother’s tolerance levels were shot to hell. The booze and drugs might only now be kicking in; fogging his awareness and slowing his reflexes when he needed them most. He glanced across the pit at Suzie; she was watching with a slight frown on her face and he had no idea how to read that. 

“What’s he doing?” Kate’s voice came from just behind him, quiet and concerned.

Sam flinched as Dean got in the path of another fist. This one caught him in the ribs; the other side to the busted ones but he gasped with pain and sank to one knee. He pushed himself up with a curse and a grimace. 

“Is that an act or is he…”

“I don’t know, dammit.” Sam yanked the cuffs brutally. He needed to be in that pit protecting his brother, not stuck up here watching a glorified form of bear baiting. Suzie heard the rattle of chain on metal and looked over. 

“Having fun yet?”

Sam glared. “I’m going to kill you; that’s a friggin’ promise.”

She waved the threat aside and turned her attention to Dean. “What gives, slugger? Where’s all that fighting talk now?”

Dean squinted up at her, confusion and pain written across his face. “What?”

Sam tensed as Dean’s opponents closed on him; he seemed oblivious to their presence. Suzie raised a warning hand and they pulled up short; apparently as bewildered as his brother. They’d come expecting a challenge and instead gotten a man who seemed dead on his feet. Suzie’s frown had deepened. 

“You sold me on a fight, Dean. Where’s the fun in a mercy killing?”

Dean stared at her, brow furrowed like he was having trouble understanding. Finally he turned to the other fighters. “Some other time, okay?”

His speech was slow, his words slurred. He hunched forward and braced both arms across his chest. “Ribs are fucking killing me. I can’t breathe.”

The two men watched cautiously and one looked at Suzie, seeking instruction. Sam’s heart was hammering but no longer with fear. His brother would never admit defeat or injury, even to himself, and backing down before the enemy just wasn’t in his DNA. This was a masterful scam but while Dean might have his opponents fooled, Suzie was the litmus test. She was watching, evaluating and Sam backed up the hustle the only way he could; by playing along. 

“Maybe you took it too far with the pills, huh?” His words were full of loathing, laced with hostility and Suzie’s eyes lingered on him for a moment.

“Let’s not forget who this is really about. The more Dean hurts, the more you suffer, right? How can I lose?”

“Bitch.” Sam lunged at her and pain tore across his shoulders as the cuffs brought him up short. The anger wasn’t fabricated either; it had been lodged in his gut, a low-burning flame, ever since this nightmare started. “You’re gonna let those fuckers slaughter him?”

Suzie smiled coldly. “He won’t die, Sammy. I hear you’re a dab hand with that med kit.” She nodded at the stooges in the pit. “Take him down. Don’t hold back.”

The bigger of the two shook his head. “This ain’t fair. He can’t fight back.”

“Since when was two on one ever fair, asshole?” Sam’s voice was contemptuous but the guy barely acknowledged him. He was looking at Suzie doubtfully and she sneered back. 

“You bitching out on me, Brody? You need Ed there to show you how it’s done?”

Brody’s tag buddy sniggered. Ed clearly had no problem pulverising a hurt and compromised opponent. Dean had his back pressed to the wall, hunched like he was in excruciating pain and he was inching round the pit, trying to get away. Ed shadowed him, a smile pulling at his lips. It split into a grin when Dean stumbled and fell to his knees, cursing and breathing hard. Ed moved in for the kill.

Dean reacted with a speed which took everybody by surprise; except maybe Sam. As Ed’s foot swung towards his chest Dean grabbed it, twisted his ankle viciously and threw him backwards. Ed stumbled and went down with a grunt of pain. Dean was on top of him before he’d hit the ground, landing several punches to his face. Ed’s arms flew towards his head, trying to protect himself and Dean popped him square in the jewels. As he doubled up reflexively Dean lunged for his boot and, with a cry of triumph, pulled out the knife 

Sam only got a fleeting glimpse of the weapon but it had a long blade with a serrated edge. It was a hunter’s knife; the kind Dean was very comfortable wielding and a moment later he’d plunged it into Ed’s right shoulder, giving it a twist on the way out. Ed screamed and Dean punched him in the mouth. 

“Quit whining and stay down.”

The whole thing happened in a matter of seconds. Brody looked on, stunned, but he recovered quickly and was reaching for the blade in his own boot when Dean stood up. He was cool, relaxed and he flipped his knife like a pancake; letting it spin a few times before catching it deftly by the grip. 

“You might have a conscience, pal; but I ain’t going easy on you.”

Brody hesitated, eyes on Ed who was moaning and clutching his shoulder. He didn’t look like he was getting up anytime soon and Brody clearly hadn’t anticipated a one on one knife fight with Dean Winchester. He backed up a few steps and Nathan shouted at him, sounding irate. 

“Quit stalling, Brody, you spineless bastard. Get in there and finish it.”

Dean’s head whipped up. “Finish it yourself, asshole.”

“ _You’re_ not here to talk, Winchester; shut up and entertain us.” Nathan’s voice was scornful, taunting and Dean’s eyes narrowed. He tensed for a split second then hurled the knife with a force and accuracy which was near-on deadly. Nathan’s reflexes saved him; he dodged aside and the blade which would have taken out his eye slashed his cheekbone instead. The knife clattered into the darkness on the other side of the pit. 

Dean snorted. “You entertained yet, fucker?”

“Son of a bitch.” Blood was running down Nathan’s face but he paid it no mind; he pulled the pistol from his waistband and took aim. Brody edged away, pressing against the wall like he hoped it would swallow him whole but Dean didn’t move. He stood in the centre of the pit, an insolent expression on his face; daring Nathan to do it. 

“Put the gun down.” Suzie’s voice was commanding but Nathan shook his head. 

“He’s got this coming…” He wiped his cheek and glanced at the blood on his hand. “You’ll pay for that, you bastard.”

Dean smirked. “Sorry, man; spent my last dime banging your momma.”

The pistol discharged with a roar and Sam recoiled. He was half deafened by the noise, dimly registered shouting and confusion and then nothing else mattered because Dean was down. The bullet had torn into the thigh of his right leg and blood was beginning to spot his jeans. The detached, soldier’s part of Sam’s brain told him there was no arterial spray, the injury wasn’t fatal but Dean was gripping his leg and his face was contorted with pain. Sam lost it.

It was more than anger; more than dread, fear and panic all rolled up into one. The white hot fury coursing through his veins felt alive; malevolent, powerful and consuming. And it was his for the taking. 

When the cuffs round his wrists sprang open Sam didn’t need to wonder how or why. This was his birthright, his gift and using it made him feel totally, unquestionably _whole_. He considered jumping into the pit, anything to get at Dean quickly, but even in his heightened state he knew dropping twenty feet to a concrete floor wouldn’t end well. Instead he took off down the stairs, hearing feet pounding behind him. A bullet whistled past his head but he knew it couldn’t harm him; he revelled in the feeling.

There was an argument raging inside his head as he ran for the door to the pit. His own voice overlaid with another; inquisitive but sardonic.

_What gives, Sammy? Turn round and get the hell out of dodge._

_And leave Dean bleeding, you kidding me?_

_Boost some wheels, champ; pedal to the metal…_

_You mean run away and leave my brother to die?_

_You’re the charm, kiddo; got picked for the winning team. Stick with that loser and he’ll drag you down. You’ll both die bloody._

_Get out of my head, you son of a bitch!_

Sam approached the entrance to the pit; saw the bolts on the door slide back, watched it bang open of its own accord and then he was through. He was dimly aware of Brody dodging past, desperate to get out, then he was skidding to a halt beside Dean. One look at his brother and the supernatural rage evaporated, leaving him panting, nauseous and terrified.

Dean’s face was ashen; his eyes squeezed shut. Both hands were gripping the bloody fabric of his jeans and his breath was ragged. Sam dropped to his knees in the dirt.

“I’m here, Dean. I’ve got you, man.”

Dean’s eyes cracked open then widened in shock and confusion. “Sammy? How the hell did you get here?”

“It doesn’t matter; just tell me how bad it is. One to ten.”

“Ten being what? Bo Derek?” Dean grimaced. 

Sam pushed his hands away and manipulated the injured leg gently, trying to assess the damage. He was slow, careful but Dean jerked and hissed with pain. 

“Dammit. Go easy will you?”

There wasn’t much blood coming from the bullet hole but Sam’s stomach did a flip when he realised there was no exit wound. “The bullet’s still in your leg, Dean.”

“You think?” Dean spoke through gritted teeth.

I’ll take care of it. Just hang in there.”

Despite the pounding of his heart, the ringing in his ears, Sam clearly heard a gun being cocked behind him. 

“Get away from him, freak.”

Sam turned to find Nathan’s pistol levelled at his chest. Suzie and Toby were standing beside him, uncertain and wary. Tim skulked through the door, gave them all a wide berth and hurried towards Ed.

“How’d you get out of the cuffs?” Suzie’s tone was conversational but it sounded forced. She was nervous, trying to hide it and Sam felt like he might have an advantage here.

“Would you feel better if I said I picked the lock?”

Her eyes shifted towards Nathan then back again. “How did the door unlock itself and open when you were six feet away?”

Sam smiled enigmatically. “You really want to know?”

He could see they were all rattled; he also knew the psychic force he’d manipulated was no longer present. He had no power over these people but they didn’t know that. His best hope was to bluff it out but Suzie was looking at Dean now, a thin smile pulling at her lips.

“Let’s get something straight; nobody else is gonna patch your brother up. If you want a shot at helping him, you’d best play nice.”

Toby had been following the exchange intently, his battered face dark with suspicion. “What if the rumours are true? If he’s really got some kind of psychic shit then...”

Suzie snorted derisively. “Hunters talk, Toby. It’s all bullshit.”

Toby squared his jaw defensively. “Weren’t bullshit about Dean’s shoulder. There’s been talk for nearly a year and what I just saw…”

He frowned, unable to describe exactly _what_ he’d seen, but Nathan got the gist of it.

“… would make Sam here a monster. I made it my life’s work to put down freaks like him.”

There was only the slightest hint of a threat in his voice but it was enough to set Dean’s antennae twitching. He sat up with a struggle and a curse then glared at Nathan.

“Look in the mirror, asshole. The only freak is you and your sicko buddies.”

Nathan scowled but Suzie’s face lit up at the sound of his voice. “Feeling better, stud?”

“Peachy.”

She smiled. “Still gunning for that Oscar, huh?”

Dean shrugged. “Had you fooled, didn’t I?”

Suzie nudged his injured leg with the toe of her boot. “Here’s the thing, honey; from here on in we’re keeping it real, so no more happy pills. Bet you could use a couple right now?”

Dean didn’t flinch. “You think I break that easy?”

“You screwed up my fight, Dean; but I thought of something better. We’re going to have a movie night; drink some beer, pop some corn…”

Dean interrupted her, feigning interest. “You get Casa Erotica in this fleapit?” 

“You’re the main event, tough guy. We’re all going to watch Sammy dig that bullet out your leg.”

Dean sniffed dismissively but Sam’s ass was puckering at the prospect. He kept his own game face on with an effort. “I’ve spent half my life digging bullets out of him. You won’t get much of a show.”

“That so?” Suzie raised an eyebrow. “We’ll find a few ways to liven things up.”

A loud groan drew everybody’s attention to the other side of the pit. Tim had gotten Ed on his feet, the injured man’s good arm slung across his shoulder and they were making their way towards the door. Dean tracked their progress with a satisfied smile. Sam knew he wouldn’t be smiling when it was his turn to be hauled upright; he was dreading that almost as much as looking for the bullet in front of an audience.

Kate came through the door just as Tim and Ed reached it. There was an awkward shuffle as they manoeuvred round each other and Sam realised, with a jolt, he hadn’t seen Kate in a while. From the look on her face, Suzie hadn’t either. 

“Where the hell have you been?”

Kate held up a familiar looking knife as she approached. There was blood on the blade. “This is evidence. You want it left out there for some stoner to trip over; I’ll put it back.”

Suzie stared at it for a moment then nodded shortly. “Good thinking.”

Just as Sam was thinking they’d all dodged a bullet, she took the weapon from her sister. “How did you know about this, Dean?”

He shot her a wild, crazy grin. “Lucky guess.”

“Crap.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean the psychic crap that runs in our family?”

Suzie tensed and Dean smirked, pressing his advantage. “You won’t believe what I can do with knives, sweetheart; Carrie’s my middle name.”

Suzie’s hand snaked out, grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back. She pressed the knife to his throat.

“Let’s try that again, smartass. How did you know about this blade?”

Dean muttered something which sounded like _fuck you_ and Sam spoke up hastily. “It was me, okay? I had a premonition. Don’t ask me how ‘cause I can’t explain. Same way I can move stuff with my mind, sometimes I get visions.”

Suzie stared at him for a long moment but she didn’t release Dean and Sam watched a bead of blood track down his brother’s neck. Nathan broke the silence, jabbing a finger in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t like any of this and I don’t trust _that_ fucker.”

Dean sniggered. “Just come out and say it, Nathan; you’re shitting bricks.”

“You think so?” Nathan pointed his pistol at Sam. “Reckon your freaky brother can magic away a bullet?”

“Put the friggin’ gun down.” Suzie sounded exasperated but she finally let go of Dean and he rubbed at his throat, glowering. She reached Nathan in three quick strides and prodded him hard in the chest.

“Listen to me, numb nuts. Sammy shucked his cuffs, got the jump on us and high-tailed it. He should have been dust by now but he ran the other way. He ran straight to his brother and that’ll always be his downfall. He’s no threat to us while lover boy’s under the gun.”

“Don’t bet on that.” Dean sounded totally assured as he began climbing to his feet and then he froze. All colour drained from his face and sweat pricked across his brow. Sam figured adrenaline was the only thing which had kept him in the game this long and that tank was draining fast. Dean cursed softly, levered himself to the floor gingerly and Sam was beside him in a heartbeat. 

“Take it easy, man. I think you’re going into shock.”

“I don’t feel so hot...” Dean’s eyes were glassy; tremors were wracking his body and there were goose bumps on his flesh. Sam threw a desperate look at Suzie.

“We need to get him someplace warm, stop the bleeding…”

She nodded at Toby. “Give him a hand; take them to ops.”

Dean bit off a groan as they lifted him to his feet and got him supported. His head rolled forward and he spent the short journey in a state of semi-consciousness. Fortunate for him; not so easy on Sam who ended up bearing most of his brother’s dead weight. 

The carousel ops room was a few rides down from the Wall of Death and a blast of hot air hit Sam as Suzie opened the door. Brody, Ed and Tim were already inside. Ed was on the couch, clutching a bottle of whisky and grimacing as Brody applied a dressing to his shoulder. Tim was offering tips and he glanced up as they came in. He took one look at Dean then averted his eyes quickly. 

“Put him on the table.” Toby sounded breathless and pissed off which was rich, considering Sam had carried most of the load. Dean muttered something incomprehensible as they laid him on the long, wooden bench but the heat was reviving him and he opened his eyes a moment later. 

“What’s going on?” He sounded groggy, disoriented, and Suzie patted his cheek gently.

“Sam’s about to perform a little EMT. Think you can hold still?”

Dean blinked at her. “Got any magic pills?”

“They’re off the menu, honey.”

A slow frown moved across his face. “Screw you then.”

She patted him again. “How about we tie you down, huh? Make things easier?”

Dean smiled. “Whatever floats your boat.”

Sam’s stomach clenched up so hard he thought he was going to puke.


	13. Chapter 13

When Dean got his shit back together he found himself in the middle of a cat fight. Two chicks were going at it with all guns blazing and he figured it best to keep his eyes closed and play dead. That’s until he heard his own name mentioned repeatedly and realised they were fighting over him. 

It was hardly the first time but his satisfaction in the achievement dwindled as his brain kicked into a higher gear. He remembered the second round in the pit, hustling those fuckers good and getting shot by Nathan, again. Dean knew he should feel angry about being set up to fail, taking another bullet as reward for winning, but nothing seemed very important right now. 

With the thrill of the fight over, the adrenalin rush spent, the booze and pills he’d downed earlier were doing a fine job of keeping reality at arm’s length. Dean felt relaxed, woolly and the gunshot wound was hurting less than he knew it should. There was little more than a dull throb and numbness round his upper thigh until he tried to move. Then he felt harsh, stabbing pain and remembered the bullet was still in there. Even the pills couldn’t mask the knot of dread which formed in his stomach. 

Dean knew he was in the ops room; the dry heat and stink of camping gas told him that although he didn’t recall getting here. His last clear memory was sitting on the floor in the pit, feeling cold, shaky and faint before the lights went out. He lay still for a while, waiting for the pills to pull him back onto the magic carpet ride where everything was floaty and unreal; but Suzie and Kate were still going hard. Their shrill, incessant yapping was making his teeth ache so he opened his eyes and discovered the two women standing _right_ over him, virtually nose to nose. Kate was hollering about immorality; Suzie was shaking her head, insisting at the top end of her register how it made perfect sense. Dean waited for a lull in the argument, which was a long time coming, then made his move. 

“Would you keep it down? I’m trying to get a little shuteye here.”

“Shut up, Dean.” They snapped at him in unison, dismissing him like a piece of meat that happened to be on the table between them. When they realised he’d re-joined the land of the living it stopped the argument dead. 

“How are you feeling?” Kate’s voice was calm and composed, as though she hadn’t been screaming like a banshee a few seconds ago. 

“Like I just ran the Bunion Derby.” Dean pushed himself onto his elbows and winced as pain shot through his leg. Sam was sitting on a chair beside him, outsize medical kit balanced on his lap and he looked red-eyed and pale. Dean glanced across to where Tim, Brody and Ed were crowded together on the couch, sharing a bottle of whisky. They reminded him of three dumb monkeys and he noted the bandage on Ed’s shoulder with satisfaction. 

“How are _you_ feeling, Ed?”

“Shut up you son of a bitch.” Nathan’s low growl drew Dean’s attention to the other end of the room. He and Toby were by the door, barricading it and both of them had shotguns now. Dean smirked. 

“Bonnie and Clyde, huh? I’ve gotta tell you, Nathan, you’re one _ugly_ piece of tail.”

Nathan was on the move when Suzie’s voice rang out; hard and commanding. “Stay away from him if you know what’s good.” 

She put a hand on Dean’s chest, pushing him back onto the table. “We were debating whether to tie you down, stud. My sister doesn’t like the idea but I know how much you enjoy a little bondage.”

Dean sniffed dismissively. “You want to tie me down for kicks, sweetheart, I ain’t complaining.”

Sam stood up fast. “Nobody touches him, unless you’re looking for more of what you got in the pit…”

There was a tangible shift of mood in the room; Dean sensed unease, mistrust and all eyes were on his brother. Suzie fielded the threat with a casual wave of her hand. “If you had any mojo you’d be using it; not handing out wolf tickets.”

Sam raised his chin defiantly. “Want to try me?”

Suzie appraised him through narrowed eyes before nodding curtly. “Have it your way.” She patted Dean’s shoulder. “Good luck, honey. Hope your brother’s got a steady hand.” 

She joined Nathan by the door but Kate hung back. “Need any help?” 

When Sam shook his head she shrugged off her coat and tucked it under Dean’s head. He grunted his appreciation as Sam began selecting items from the medical kit. Dean knew what all the stuff was for; he’d been on the receiving end of it often enough, but the sight still made him queasy. He looked away, focussing on the callous, expectant faces in the room and got a surprise when his eyes landed on Tim. 

Tim’s expression was dark, his eyes flashing and he was getting to his feet. He snatched the whisky from Brody and thrust the bottle at Dean. He spoke quietly; words intended for just the two of them.

“I’m gonna make this right. Just hang in there, man.”

“It’s a little early for happy hour.” Suzie’s tone was light but the underlying menace was clear. “Who said you could tend bar, Tim?”

“Hunters don’t shoot each other for thrills.” Tim’s voice was full of disgust. “We look out for each other and Dean had my back in New Orleans. He saved my ass and that means I’ll give him anything I damned well please. You don’t like it, get fucked.”

Suzie seemed taken aback for all of two seconds but got her game face back on swiftly. “Bravo, Tim. Finally growing a pair, huh?”

Tim scowled. “You’re barely holding this operation together, lady. You really want trouble from me?”

Suzie watched him appraisingly, head cocked to one side. “Worm’s on the turn, huh?”

“Takes a worm to land a catfish...” Tim stalked back to the couch and Dean lifted the bottle in salute.

“Here’s to the worms.”

Sam was eyeing the booze with unease. “You think that’s a good idea, Dean?”

Dean took a gulp of whisky. “I think it’s a friggin’ awesome idea, Doctor Nick.”

Sam wasn’t happy, but he didn’t try to take away the only anaesthesia Dean was going to get. “Just go easy, okay?”

“Back atcha, man.”

Dean drank and cursed steadily as Sam located the bullet. He found it an inch away from the thigh bone and went in with a knife and forceps. It hurt like a son of a bitch but even after weeks of tossing down pain pills like candy, Dean felt some of their blunting effects. It was enough to keep him from squirming on the bench or crying out in pain. He chalked that up as a win. 

The booze got the better of him as Sam was bandaging the wound. The room started spinning and a kaleidoscope of colours danced before his eyes. Sam was worried; Dean saw his lips moving but couldn’t make out any words. There was a persistent pounding in his ears and he knew he was losing his grip on reality when he dropped the whisky. He heard the bottle thump to the floor, briefly mourned the waste of good liquor and then he was back in the twilight zone.

 

He woke up in the cage; hungry, hungover and alone. He was lying on the bunk, covered by a couple of ratty blankets and grey morning light was filtering into the storehouse. Dean’s right leg felt hot, stiff and the wound was pulsing in time to his heartbeat. He flexed it cautiously and cursed at the unexpectedly intense pain. He’d been out long enough for the pills to wear off entirely and now he was facing the harsh, unadulterated reality of a gunshot wound. 

He had a pretty good idea why Sam wasn’t in the cage with him. His brother’s psychic sideshow had spooked the gang while his apparent vision about the knives had tossed an extra spanner into the works. Dean hoped that last part was a bluff to protect Kate, but there was no denying Sam had used mind control to unlock handcuffs and unbolt a door remotely. Dean wasn’t comfortable with any of it and if he was honest, deep down it scared him shitless. He felt like he was losing his brother to darkness, helpless to do anything but watch as Sam became something which every fibre of his being compelled him to hunt and kill. He didn’t want to think about where Sam’s choices might lead them, what it meant for them ultimately but it seemed unlikely either of them would live long enough for it to matter much anyway. 

The only positive was now Suzie saw Sam as a threat. That might have bought them some leverage, but not while Dean was on his ass feeling sorry for himself. As he pushed the blankets aside he caught movement near the door of the storehouse. Somebody was high tailing it from the room and he couldn’t help feeling flattered. Even unconscious, shot up and beat to hell, Suzie still considered him dangerous enough to post a guard. Dean needed to see if his leg still worked, without an audience and he used the opportunity to haul himself up, using the bunk for support. 

He was careful to keep his weight off the injury but the pain was horrible nonetheless. He was sweating, dizzy and nauseas by the time he’d taken three shaky steps across the cage and then he was clinging to the bars just to stay upright. As he began to realise he wouldn’t make it back to the bunk on his own, his leg gave out completely. He hit the deck hard, his stomach rolled ominously and he wound up on his hands and knees, dry retching into the dirt.

That’s how Kate found him. He was too wrapped up in his own misery to notice anything else and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a warm hand on his back. 

“What the hell, Dean? You got some kind of death wish?” There was concern mixed with irritation in her voice and he blinked at her through watering eyes. 

“I think your sister’s got it covered.”

“Ain’t that’s the truth.” As Kate helped him to his feet, he saw Ed standing by the door of the cage. He was wearing a makeshift sling, a scowl and there was a .45 in his belt. Dean stared at him contemptuously.

“That’s the honor guard? A one armed friggin’ bandit?”

Ed’s good hand moved to the butt of the pistol. “Only takes one to pull a trigger, asshole.”

“And I don’t need a guard.” Kate sounded amused. “Look at you… can’t even stand without tossing your cookies.”

Dean smiled ruefully. “Guess I had a little too much fun earlier.” 

She helped him back to the bunk and he sat down heavily. “What’s up next? Six shooters at dawn?”

“Or something better, if you’re game...” Kate sat beside him and laid a hand on his good leg, way too close to his crotch. Dean jerked with surprise but before he could get offended she leaned in close, lips brushing his ear as she whispered. “Play along. Get rid of Ed.”

Dean’s heartbeat quickened and he swiftly pasted lewd grin onto his face. “That sounds like a _lot_ of fun.” He slid an arm round her waist and glanced at Ed. “This ain’t the Truman Show, pal. Take off.”

Ed looked at Kate doubtfully. “Suzie said…”

“To hell with what Suzie said.” Kate sounded breathless and impatient. “Lock the door and fuck off. Don’t hurry back.”

Ed considered for a long moment before closing the cage door and locking it. “You’ve got ten minutes. I’m betting ramrod there won’t last longer than two.”

Dean smirked at him. “Good luck jerking off with that shoulder, man.”

They watched him leave the warehouse but Kate didn’t seem in any hurry to disengage. When Dean coughed pointedly for the second time she got slowly to her feet. 

“You gonna tell me what that little performance was about?”

She shrugged. “We need to talk.”

“Awesome. Where the hell’s my brother?”

“Sam’s in the pit.”

“Fighting?” Dean’s stomach clenched up so hard he thought he might puke again.

“Nobody’s fighting. After that crap he pulled earlier they figured it’s the safest place to keep him. Nathan and Toby are standing guard.”

Dean released a pent up breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Where’s your sister?”

“She went out.” Kate chewed on her lip, considering something. Finally she spat it out. “When she gets back they’re starting the next fight.”

“And my brother’s in the fucking pit?” Terror and rage hit Dean in roughly equal measures. He tried to stand up but his leg had other ideas and he fell back onto the bunk with a curse. 

“You tell your psycho bitch sister _I’m_ fighting, you got it? She’ll get any kind of show she wants so long as Sammy’s out of it. You got that?”

“Take it easy, Dean. She’s not done with you yet.” 

Kate sounded anxious but it barely registered. Dean couldn’t imagine how Suzie expected him to fight when he could barely stand, but he didn’t care. Sam would be safe for a while longer and Dean couldn’t see much beyond that. 

“Who’s in the blue corner this time? My money’s on Tim.”

Kate snorted disdainfully. “Tim and Brody went on a chow run. I’m not expecting either of ‘em back.”

“Nathan?” Dean’s stomach twisted. “That should be a walk in the park.”

He scrubbed at his eyes; daunted by the prospect and felt Kate’s hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me, Dean. I called your friend Bobby Singer and...” 

Hope flared for a split second before Dean stomped on it hard. He wasn’t getting duped that easy. 

“Sure you did. Was it Suzie’s idea to yank my chain, huh? Pull me up, knock me down again…”

“I’m not lying.” A smile was pulling at Kate’s lips. “That Singer guy’s one crabby old bastard; says you and Sam are a pair of idjits but to hang on in. He’s rounded up some guys and they’re headed over.”

There was enough truth in her words for Dean to feel a twinge of optimism. “How long ‘til the cavalry arrives?”

“He texted me from Red Cloud…” Kate checked her watch. “Unless they hit a roadblock they’ll be here in about twenty minutes.” 

“So all we’ve got to do is stall the bloodhound gang.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, feeling some of the tension subside. “I’m open to suggestions…”

They both jumped as the door to the warehouse banged open. Suzie was marching towards them, accompanied by Toby, Ed and a man Dean didn’t recognise. He was tall, whip thin and wearing a crumpled brown suit. His complexion was sallow and a pair of wire rim glasses perched on his narrow nose. Dean shot a glance at Kate. 

“Who’s the streak of piss?

“No clue.”

As Suzie unlocked the door of the cage her eyes flitted between Dean and Kate. For the most part she seemed amused. “How was the road test, sis? Get him up into fifth?”

Kate ignored the jibe. “Who’s the cheap suit?”

“Highball?” Suzie looked over her shoulder at the newcomer. “He’s what you might call a mixologist.”

“Of course he is.” Dean smirked at the stranger. “I bet you know all about Cock Sucking Cowboys.”

“That’s the best you’ve got?” Highball shook his head. “Does your momma tell you you’re funny?”

Dean scowled. “Bite me.”

Highball produced a syringe from his inside pocket. “You’ll find my cocktails pack a little more punch than the regular type.” He tapped the barrel, squinted at the clear fluid inside then glanced over at Suzie. “We ready to roll?”

She nodded eagerly. “Let’s get this party started.”


	14. Chapter 14

Dean stared at the syringe. “What’s in that thing?”

Highball’s narrow face split into a grin. “Think of it as a pick me up.”

“I said what the fuck’s in it?” Dean couldn’t hide the edge of panic in his voice which caused the grin to widen. 

“PCP, LSD, a little crank...”

Dean clenched his fists. “Try and spike me pal, you’ll get more crank than you can handle.”

He tried to enhance the threat by getting up and cursed when his leg protested at full volume. Highball chuckled.

“Don’t fret Twinkle Toes; you’ll be back on the boards in no time.”

Dean stared at him, trying to figure his involvement in Suzie’s revenge pageant. “You do this kind of thing for kicks, asshole?”

“I take pride in my work, but the cash never goes amiss.” 

He winked at Suzie but her spiteful grin was cut short when Kate seized the lapels of her coat and shook her hard. 

“Where’d you get the fixings, huh? You knocking over cook labs now?”

Suzie shoved her away with a scowl. “Tim lifted the shit and you were right outside the clinic, which makes you an accessory. I wouldn’t be getting all high and mighty if I were you. ”

Kate stared at her, stunned. “Your eggs were always scrambled, Suzie; what made them slide off the plate? Don’t say it was Daddy dying ‘cause you were crazy as a shithouse rat long before that.”

“Don’t push it, bitch. We might share DNA but it only gets you one pass.”

Kate’s eyes went wide. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suzie jerked her head at Dean. “You couldn’t wait to jump on lover boy there, soon as my back was turned. That not only makes you a sneaky skank, it’s also a _compromised operation_ in my book.”

“You invited me to this party, dipshit.” Kate sounded incredulous. “I never wanted any part of your damned _operation_ and just for the record; I didn’t have to cuff him to the bunk.”

Dean could see this situation going south and like a moron he got in the middle of the argument. “No need to fight over it, ladies. Have Highball toss some Viagra into that rig, we’ll all go home happy.”

The levity he’d tried for fell flat on its ass and Suzie threw him a dismissive look. “Nice try, honey, but that ship already sailed.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “No party favours for the winner?”

“Listen to Balboa; thinks there’s gonna be a winner.” Suzie’s smile was feral and Dean’s chest tightened with dread. He tried to focus on Bobby; how dying in the pit wasn’t necessarily a done deal. He failed miserably on both counts.

“You telling me the shit in that syringe ain’t some kind of supercharger?”

Highball stepped inside the cage, a patronising expression on his face. “You an expert on street dope now?” 

His sarcasm was beginning to piss Dean off. “How about we go one on one in the pit, powder finger? I’ll show you a few street moves.”

Highball snorted dismissively and passed the syringe to Suzie. “Would you care to do the honours?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” She approached the bunk, flanked by Ed and Toby and Dean glowered at them.

“Back off, or I swear to God I’ll…”

Suzie laughed. “What’s that you say, Hopalong?”

Dean was out of options but refused to admit defeat. He cast a desperate look round the cage, seeking some way out of this shit storm and came up empty. 

“Back to the wall much?” Suzie ran a hand through his hair and he jerked away with a growl of disgust. “Don’t sweat it, Dean; here’s the plan. We get you all revved up for a rousing finale and…”

Dean interrupted, sneering. “Aren’t you running a little low on volunteers?”

Suzie shrugged nonchalantly. “There’s still a player in the game. You ready for some brother on brother action?”

“Bitch.” Dean made it to his feet but Toby swept his good leg and slammed him onto the bunk with force enough to crack the wooden base. He pinned him by the shoulders as Dean thrashed and cursed. He was holding his own pretty good until Ed sat on his legs and pressed down hard on his injured thigh. Dean howled in agony and Ed grinned. 

“One armed bandit, huh? Jackass.”

Dean was fighting for breath and black spots were dancing before his eyes. He heard Kate yelling and followed the direction of her voice. Highball had her trapped in a corner of the cage and that made him renew his struggles.

“Get away from her, you four eyed sack of shit.”

“Calm down, honey; she doesn’t need to be part of this.” Suzie perched on the bunk beside Dean and showed him the syringe. “You should be more concerned about yourself.”

She glanced at Highball. “Where do I put it?”

“Straight into a vein if you want a quick result.” Highball’s voice was clipped and professional; he sounded like a chemistry professor. “If you’re looking for a delayed reaction go into soft tissue. Since he’s such an ass, I’d recommend somewhere in that region.”

Dean glared at him. “Takes one to know one, douche bag.”

Suzie gazed at the syringe thoughtfully. “What kind of delay are we talking?”

“That particular blend takes about ten minutes to kick in.”

“Run time?”

He shrugged. “Depends on the subject, but it’s good for half an hour at least.”

She digested the information and reached a quick decision. “Hold him still.”

The grip on Dean’s shoulders and legs tightened, holding him immobile as she jabbed the needle into his ass and emptied the chamber. She patted him and smiled. “All over, hot stuff. Can I fetch you a sugar cube?”

He scowled at her. “Get fucked, bitch.”

“Missed the boat there, honey. Your loss.” Suzie stood up and nodded at Toby. “Take him over. There’ll be time for a family farewell.” 

Her gaze swung across to Kate. “You can stay in here for a while. Keep the home fires burning.”

Dean was hauled away roughly. He heard the cage door bang shut, Kate’s outraged cries of protest fading rapidly, then they were outside and grey daylight speared his eyes. Ed and Toby hadn’t bothered cuffing him, didn’t see him as much of a threat but they were moving fast, almost yanking his arms from their sockets in their haste. They dragged him across the patch of soggy grass towards the Wall of Death, unbolted the door to the pit and threw him inside. Dean stumbled, tried to keep his balance and sprawled face down in the dirt, cursing and coughing. Seconds later he was rolled onto his back and Sam was staring down at him. 

His brother seemed undamaged and a flood of relief washed over him. Sam frowned as he took in Dean’s battered appearance. 

“You’re bleeding again.”

Dean glanced down, saw blood flecking the bandage on his leg and snorted dismissively. “Bigger fish, Sammy.”

It was hot in the pit and Dean broke out in a sweat; burning up so bad he began panting. This wasn’t fever or reaction to injury; it was the drug entering his bloodstream and his heart began pounding, fast and painful as he realised what it meant for them both. Sam shook him gently.

“What’s wrong, Dean? What did they do now?”

Dean’s vision was swimming in and out of focus and he blinked hard to clear it. “Spiked me. Some kind of fucked up speedball…”

He tried to get up but Sam grabbed his shoulder and held him down. “Your pupils are like dimes. What did they use?”

Dean struggled to remember. “Angel dust, acid, crank… probably a few they didn’t mention.”

“Jesus Christ.” Sam ran a shaky hand through his hair. “How long does the, uh… trip last?”

“How the fuck would I know? I don’t exactly party like this every day.” 

Dean was getting aggravated and tried to keep a lid on it. None of this was Sam’s fault, after all. “Half an hour at least, according to the nut job who cooked it up.”

Sam sat back on his heels, breathing hard. “That stuff will make you hallucinate. It’ll make you feel invincible, like you can fucking fly…” He looked off into the viewing gallery and his face was flushed with anger. “Those sick bastards knew we’d never fight willingly...”

“You got the memo, huh?”

Dean caught movement in his peripheral vision. He looked round sharply but there was nothing in the pit except the two of them. He dragged his eyes back to his brother, tried to keep his thoughts from scrambling. 

“You’re gonna survive this, Sammy. You get out of here, hunt those fuckers down and give ‘em the death they deserve. You do it for me, man.”

Sam spread his arms helplessly. “How, Dean?”

“Use your psychic shit, unlock the door and don’t look back.”

Sam shook his head. “I can’t just turn it on and off.”

_You could if you practiced…_

Dean bit back the words before they could leave his lips. Sam’s abilities were already common knowledge in the field. Without his big brother to protect him he’d fall prey to some other hunter, sooner rather than later. Dean didn’t want Sam using his unnatural gifts, _ever_ , but right now he could see no other way. He wound his fingers into his brother’s shirt and pulled him down to ear level.

“Kate called Bobby. He’s rounded up some kind of posse and they’re real close.” 

Sam’s eyes widened. “Bobby’s coming?”

He tried to pull away and Dean tightened his grip. “Kate’s in the cage. You’ve got to help her, man. Suzie’s gonna go after her, soon as she realises who snitched.”

Dean saw something coming at him; scrawny and deformed. Blood was dripping from its twisted, mutilated mouth and it was moving faster than his eyes could track. He sat up in a rush, looking round in panic. The thing was gone, the pit empty again but now it was pulsing gently, steady as a heartbeat. It was as though some giant, subterranean creature was taking a nap downstairs. Sam was staring at him in alarm and then it wasn’t his brother anymore. It was a conniving, red-eyed demon with a flicking, forked tongue. 

Dean leaped to his feet, backed up until he hit concrete and shook his head violently. The demon vanished and Sam was standing before him, white as a sheet and shit scared. Dean realised his leg didn’t hurt anymore, it felt as strong and sure as the rest of him. He was ready to fight, eager to kill something and all he needed was a target. His eyes found Sam again and his whole body went rigid. He was about to do something terrible, he was powerless to prevent it and the thought terrified him. 

“Get away from me, Sammy. I’m done for.”

Sam looked worn out and ragged. There were tears in his eyes. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

Dean felt a pang of irritation. Was his brother always this damned stubborn? He couldn’t remember. 

“It’s dragging me under, I can’t stop it. Take off, man.”

Sam’s anxious glance went round the pit. He was cautious, wary; like he was standing too close to a cornered, injured animal. 

“We’re trapped, Dean. Try and stay calm.” 

His voice was quiet but commanding; the tone he used when they were in the worse kind of peril. Dean could sense his brother’s fear and knew it was justified. God only knew what the drug was about to turn him into…

“You’ve gotta kill me, ‘cause in a few minutes…” 

Dean was close to tears. He never dreamed he’d be saying goodbye to his brother like this. Sam glanced at his watch and Dean knew he was counting down the seconds. Blood was roaring in his ears and the pulsing of the pit was intensifying. All manner of half-realised creatures were waiting in the shadows, watching with greedy eyes, calling to him in a cacophony of thin, broken voices. Dean shouted to hear himself above their din. 

“I was supposed to save you, Sammy. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

Dean couldn’t stop the tears; they spilled from his eyes and ran down his face. Sam grabbed hold of him, pulling him into a tight embrace and Dean experienced a series of rapid flashbacks. He recalled each and every time they’d hugged like this and the memories spanned decades. Two brothers against the world, expressing mutual love and protection in the only way they knew how. It felt safe and secure. It felt like home.

“I’ll get us through this, Dean. Just don’t….”

Sam’s smell changed; now it was putrid and foul. The shrivelled, unclean thing clinging to him wasn’t his brother and Dean shoved it away roughly. “What the fuck are you?” 

He got a brief look at something long dead. Desiccated flesh hung from ancient bones, milky orbs glowed in sunken eye sockets and withered lips stretched in a perpetual rictus. Dean still had enough sense to know this thing wasn’t real and he knuckled his eyes until they burned. Finally he could see his brother again.

“Sammy? For a moment there I swear…” 

Harsh light came out of nowhere; invasive as a prison search beacon and he threw an arm across his face, trying to shut it out. 

“Turn the friggin’ lights down; you trying to blind me?”

As the light dimmed Dean could see the shadows were larger and denser now. More creatures waited inside them, shivering with lust and anticipation and they _wanted_ him. Movement at the top of the pit caught his eye and there were other monsters up there. He’d seen them before, thought he might even know them. 

“Look out for the demons, Sam.”

Dean needed to get between his brother and the things in the gallery. He had to protect Sam, was compelled to do so with every strand in his DNA. The wall wasn’t very high; he could easily make it up top if he took a good run…

He launched himself across the pit and the demons began singing. Some god awful, out of tune karaoke number but he used the voices to track their positions. He leaped for the gallery and almost made it; fingertips brushing the top of the wall before he dropped back into the pit. He snarled in frustration, was getting ready to go again when one of the demons sang words he recognised. Its voice was familiar. 

“Coming to show me a good time, honey?”

Was it Meg? One of the many red-eyed crossroads skanks he’d encountered? They all sounded the same to him. Whoever it was though, he was giving as good as he got.

“Toss me a rope and I’m all yours.” 

Dean reached into the back of his pants for the Colt. He’d take this fucker’s head clean off and there were plenty of bullets to go round for the others. The Colt wasn’t there though and now another voice was singing in a lower register.

“Don’t sweat it, asshole; soon you’ll be flying.”

Dean could see the demons clearly now, a whole cluster fuck of them. Some had red eyes, some black and one was watching with eyes the colour of burger mustard. Dean realised it was Yellow Eyes, in the damned flesh and ready to rumble. He felt a jolt of excitement. This fucker had so much to answer for and he, Dean Winchester would be the one who sent it back to the boiler room for all eternity. 

His confidence was boundless. He knew how to get up the wall now; could see cracks and holes all over its surface and he’d mapped the path up before he even started climbing. He was halfway to the top when something grabbed the back of his pants and hauled him down. It was too strong to be human and Dean realised Yellow Eyes had tricked him. The demon had jumped into the pit while he’d been occupied and he struggled wildly, enraged by his own stupidity. 

“You can’t stop me, you yellow eyed son of a whore.”

Dean spun round fast and saw what he’d expected. The bastard was leering at him, mocking him and he threw a solid punch at its face. It dodged aside, faster than light then hit him in the mouth with force enough to send him staggering against the wall. 

Something started running down his chin, probably blood but Dean couldn’t feel it. Nothing this fucker tried could hurt him. It had taken its best shot, failed and now it knew it’s time was up. He watched for a while, amused by the demon’s uncertainty and how the shadow creatures shrank from him in fear. It made him feel like a god. When the demon spoke its words sounded guttural and foreign. Dean struggled to understand them.

“I’m not a demon, Dean, I’m your brother. Look at me, really look. Try and…”

“Shut your hole, you bastard.” Anger swept through Dean like forest fire. This thing destroyed his family, fucked up his life and now it was mocking him. “You fried my mom, took my Dad, turned my brother into a freak and now it’s time for payback.”

The demons in the gallery were still singing but the sound was fading. A loud pounding had started up, like a gratuitous bass drum solo was underway and Yellow Eyes tried to slink into the shadows. Dean tracked every move. 

“You bought a one way ticket downstairs; and I’m punching it.”

 

Yellow Eyes moved again but it was slow and clumsy. Dean was enjoying its futile efforts to get away. “I’m faster than you… stronger. You can’t escape.”

Dean was getting ready to tear those yellow eyes clean out of the fucker’s skull when a demon in the gallery let out a shrill scream. They were all scared shitless; knew their number was up and Dean barked out a laugh. He pointed at Meg, or whoever the fuck was up there.

“Pack your panties, bitch. I’m coming for you next.”

Yellow Eyes was on the move again. Dean could hear everything with absolute clarity; like the volume of the world had been turned up to eleven. He heard every grain of dirt crunch beneath its feet as it tried to sneak away. When he looked back from the gallery, the demon was on the other side of the pit.

“Going somewhere, asshole?”

 

It raised its arms, like a butt ugly bird who’d forgotten how to fly. “You’re stronger than this, Dean. You can fight it.”

 

It spoke in the same harsh, unnatural tone, used the same archaic, alien words as before but Dean understood the dialect now.

“Save your breath, shithead; it’s lights out.”

He hurled himself at the demon, taking them both to the ground. Yellow Eyes twisted and writhed like a cyclone; far stronger than he looked and Dean struggled to keep hold. He took an elbow to the ribs, a fist to the guts and a blow to his face, powerful enough to crack his head against the floor. His vision blurred and the second time his head was slammed into concrete he nearly blacked out. He was flipped onto his belly and an arm, more like a tentacle, snaked round his neck. 

It was squeezing hard, crushing his windpipe and blocking his airway. The pressure was relentless. Dean struggled and squirmed, tried to throw the creature off but he was trapped beneath its weight. Lights exploded before his eyes like Fourth of July fireworks and his strength drained rapidly.

His last coherent thought was how he was about to join this damned creature in Hell.


	15. Chapter 15

Sam released the choke hold when he felt Dean go limp. He was sweating, short of breath and his body was throbbing in the dozen or so places his brother’s elbows and fists had connected with blunt force. He rolled Dean onto his back, felt for a heartbeat and found it immediately; strong and way too fast. Dean wasn’t far under; Sam could see his eyes moving rapidly beneath his lids; the drugs messing with him even in unconsciousness. It wouldn’t take long for him to come round and Sam took the brief opportunity to collect his scrambled thoughts, try to formulate a plan of action. 

He came up empty. The only way to subdue Dean was keep doing what he’d just done and it wouldn’t be nearly as easy next time. Dean was going to wake up confused, ferocious, mad as hell and Sam’s guts quaked at the prospect. He couldn’t keep this up for an half an hour or more and the only solace his panicked mind could find was Bobby and his crew. They might be close but was that really good enough? Neither Winchester had the luxury of time any more. 

He tried to assess Dean’s condition as he considered their limited options. It wasn’t just his brother’s leg bleeding now; the ferocity of the recent struggle had torn the stitches in his side and the gash was leaking again. As Sam watched blood drip into the dirt, the bleakness of their situation hit him hard. Even if they got out of this mess, Dean would need professional medical care and weeks to mend. Overcoming the psychological effects of the drugs could take a damned sight longer, if he recovered at all. As he contemplated what that meant for them both, Sam felt the stirrings of an unnatural yet familiar anger. 

Something slammed his skull with force enough to send him sprawling in the dirt and he clamped his hands to his head, writhing in agony. The vision started a moment later; shaky at first, like a movie projector cranking up to speed before popping into full HD. He’d experienced enough of the damned things to know what was coming next, though anticipating the pain didn’t lessen it any.

He watched three beat-up trucks skid to a halt inside the carnival ground, tyres spinning and sliding in the mud. A swarm of men jumped out and Sam recognised Bobby, Tim, Brody, a few of Bobby’s buddies and a couple of faces from Harvelle’s. There were nine in total and they split into three groups. Tim Matthews had a cell phone clamped to his ear and he hurried towards the storehouse on his own. Brody, Jack Saunders and Red Keenan headed for the carousel at a run while Bobby led the remaining four men towards the Wall of Death. They were all carrying pump action shotguns and the precise, organised way they were moving implied this was a careful plan in the process of execution. They climbed the rickety stairs single file, Bobby taking point, fanned out when they reached the gallery and trained their weapons on the gang. 

The gang, however, were one step ahead. Nathan, Toby and Ed were spaced round the circumference of the gallery, watchful and tense; their guns were all pointed into the pit. Suzie was beside a tall, weasel-faced man and didn’t seem fazed by the invasion at all. 

“I knew there was a rat on board. Who sold us out?”

“Does it matter?” Bobby’s tone was contemptuous but she ignored him. She was eyeing the other men curiously.

“Friends of the Winchesters? Looks like they need a few more buddies.”

“This is the advance party and the only way out is through us.” Bobby jerked his head towards the stairs. “You’ll find more artillery at the bottom.” 

“You mean it’s a _trap_?” Suzie’s voice practically dripped sarcasm. “Call me slow off the mark, but who gave you controlling stakes?”

Bobby responded by hefting his pump action. “Eight rounds of lead shot makes me a majority shareholder, sweetheart. You really want this to turn into a free for all?”

“All you’ve got is hot air, gramps. Why don’t you take a peek into the pit and see what’s what.”

Bobby hesitated, eying her warily before stepping forward and peering over the guard rail. His face went tight with anger as he took in the scene below and Suzie’s voice carried a hint of triumph.

“Stand down or those boys don’t see another sunrise.”

Nathan shouted from across the gallery. “Play ball, Singer; I’ve got ‘em right in my sights.”

Bobby scowled; a tick working in his jaw as he weighed the situation. Finally he shook his head. “Kill ‘em and your only bargaining chip’s down the crapper. We’ve got superior firepower and we ain’t taking prisoners.”

“Neither are we, old man.” Suzie nodded at Nathan. “Shoot Dean.”

“My fucking pleasure.” 

The blast of the shotgun echoed round the pit. Nathan’s ruthless expression didn’t falter as he shucked the weapon again; neither did his aim. As the final echoes died away, Suzie spoke into the stunned silence.

“If you want Sam alive, drop your guns.”

 

Sam jolted back into the real world, wondering if he’d screamed or not. The vision had been so real, so damned _close_ a part of him was convinced it had really happened. He sat up fast, looking round in panic for his brother and found Dean where he’d left him; pale, unconscious but definitely alive. 

Sam’s head felt like it was splitting in two, his heart was pumping fit to burst and his guts were rolling ominously. He felt disjointed and disoriented; the way he always did after a vision and it was a mammoth effort to pull his wits together and stumble to his feet. A second after that he was doubled up, trying not to puke as mocking laughter came from above. He stared into the gallery through watering eyes. 

They were all there; Nathan, Toby, Ed, Suzie, the skinny guy but the guns were out of sight. For the moment at least, all they cared about was their warped entertainment. 

“Clever tactic, Sam.” Suzie’s voice held grudging respect. “Looks like you took some damage, though. Think you can hold your brother off for another half hour?”

Sam scowled. “Screw you, bitch.”

“Sticks and stones, honey; we’ve got all the time in the world.”

_That’s what you think._

Sam smirked but it died on his face as he recalled the shocking finale of his vision. The tainted anger he’d felt right before it was still present though and now it was intensifying, consolidating and he worked at coaxing it from the darkness of his subconscious. Suzie wasn’t getting the last word here; she didn’t get to shoot his brother and walk away; not after everything she’d done…

There was something off with Sam’s perception; everything felt musty and decayed; yellow round the edges like age worn newspaper. There was a stench of sulphur in his nostrils and his ears were ringing. He could feel the psychic power pricking across the surface of his skin like static aftershock and it resonated in time with his heart. He understood this force was a part of him, his to nurture and control. Right now he only needed someplace to focus it. 

He eyed the door to the pit. He could open it in an instant, charge up the stairs and confront the gang head on. Or he could simply make a run for it… Both options meant leaving Dean alone and vulnerable, which made both of them untenable.

Like he was synchronised with Sam’s conflict, Dean chose that moment to stir and moan; fragments of gibberish spilling from his lips. Sam knelt beside him, murmuring soothing words which he could neither hear nor understand. A third option was employ this power to subdue his brother, but he’d only learned enough to use it as a mono-directional force. While he was focussed on Dean, he couldn’t prevent everything else going down just as he’d seen in the vision... 

Sam cursed with frustration and Dean growled in unison. What they needed was Bobby; right here and now and he looked into the gallery desperately, wondering what kind of time lag he was dealing with. 

As though he’d willed it, and maybe he had, the ringing in his ears stopped abruptly. Now he could hear everything with super clarity: tyres spinning in mud, the rumble of engines, doors closing and voices conferring. Finally he heard the quiet tread of feet on rickety stairs. 

This wasn’t another vision; this was happening in real time. He realised that when the gang started moving. They may not have heard Bobby’s arrival with Sam’s dog ears, but they knew something was wrong. There was frenetic activity as Nathan, Toby and Ed spread themselves round the gallery, standing exactly where Sam had seen them in the vision. Three guns swung over the guard rail, all aimed at himself and Dean. 

He could hear Bobby talking with Suzie, heard his brusque threat and her smug rejoinder then Bobby appeared at the rail, face tightening as he got a look at Dean. Sam stood up fast, his mind clearing rapidly. Finally he knew what he had to do and how to do it. He turned to face Nathan.

As Nathan ordered Bobby to disarm the supernatural energy spiked sharply. He squeezed the trigger, the shotgun discharged with a roar but it didn’t ravage Dean’s body. Instead the whole rig backfired, sending shot and shards of red hot metal into Nathan’s face. He staggered backwards, screaming. Sam didn’t care if he was dead or not. He hoped he was.

He sensed, rather than saw Toby’s shock and quick recovery. The energy spiked again as Toby took his shot and the gun jammed with a dull click. Sam felt another threat and swung round, seeking Ed and finding him quickly. Ed had his gun propped awkwardly on the guard rail; he was trying to aim one handed and the sight would have been comical in better circumstances. As the energy pulsed a third time, the metal of Ed’s gun burned red. He dropped it into the pit with a yelp as all hell broke loose in the gallery.

There was yelling, shooting and several bullets ricocheted round the pit. Sam knew he was safe; the power would protect him but Dean was a sitting target. He threw himself on top of his brother, using body and mind to shield them as the scene above played out. He was so focussed on keeping the force where he needed it that he lost track of everything else. When it ebbed and finally dissipated he was too exhausted to move. He lay still, listening to the pounding of Dean’s heart, the eerie silence in the pit and nearly jumped out of his skin when Bobby’s gruff voice sounded right beside his ear. 

“Now ain’t the time to be napping, boy.”

Sam rolled over in a hurry. Bobby still had his shotgun but he was holding it loose and casual now. There was a gash across his forehead, he’d lost his baseball cap in the fray and his hair was sticking out in all directions. It was one of the best sights Sam had ever seen.

“Bobby? Is everything… I mean, are we…?”

“You’re safe, son.” Bobby offered a hand and hauled Sam to his feet, scrutinising him closely. “You okay? Looks like you went five rounds with Ali.”

“I’m fine, but Dean…”

They both gazed at the bloody figure on the ground and Bobby’s breath hitched sharply. “What happened to him? Those assholes upstairs weren’t exactly forthcoming.”

Where in the name of God did he start? Sam gazed round the pit helplessly, scanning the men who’d come in with Bobby. Jack Saunders was there, three hunters he didn’t know by name and every eye was on Dean; expressions ranging from concern to outrage. Like he was picking up on all the attention, Dean’s eyes fluttered open. They were bleary, bloodshot and his pupils were wide as a camera lens on full exposure. He sat up slowly, stared round belligerently and a string of drool trickled down his chin.

“What’s wrong with him, Sam? Talk fast.” There was a note of foreboding in Bobby’s voice and Sam obliged.

“They shot him full of drugs and all he can see right now is demons. We need rope, cuffs, anything to restrain him…”

“Jesus Christ.” Bobby sounded appalled. “He’s hurt; bleeding… He’s your goddamned _brother_.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Anger and guilt turned Sam’s words harsh. They got Dean’s attention and his face split into a malicious grin.

“Still here, you yellow eyed bastard? Should’ve run when you had the chance.”

He tried to get up but his injured leg gave way and he landed back in the dirt, snarling. He tried again and Sam threw a desperate look at Bobby.

“He’s jacked up on PCP. He took a bullet in that leg eight hours ago and he can’t even feel it. We leave him like this and he’ll cripple himself.”

That piece of information convinced Bobby and he motioned at the other hunters. “Do it, and for Christ’s sakes go easy.”

The hunters had come prepared and everything they needed was at hand. Even with Dean’s drugged-up super strength, it didn’t take the four men long to cuff his hands behind his back and bind his arms and legs with rope. They stood back, giving him space and Sam flinched as his brother writhed on the ground. He was growling, cursing but he’d been expertly hog-tied and could barely move. Sam’s eyes were on his wounds, bleeding freely and Dean’s struggles weren’t helping any. Just as he’d decided to take his chances, get in close and attempt some field surgery, the drug-induced aggression passed. 

Dean’s guttural threats gave way to silence, then to whimpers and moans. He was begging for mercy now, pleading with Sam to save him and his voice was raw with panic. God only knew what reality the drugs were inflicting, but it was scaring him shitless. Every instinct urged Sam to go to him, try to reassure him but as he moved forward he felt Bobby’s hand on his arm.

“How about we step outside?”

“I’m not leaving him like this, Bobby.”

“Then for his sake keep your distance; he won’t appreciate your ugly mug in his face.”

It was sound advice. Anybody approaching Dean would only distress him further, if they didn’t get their fingers bitten off, but they couldn’t stand round with their thumbs up their asses either. Bobby was tense and gnawing his lower lip.

“Do we risk the hospital?”

“Uh, let’s see…” Sam couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. “He’s been shot twice, he’s hopped up on illegal drugs; he’s been starved and beaten half to death... Got a cover story for all that?”

Bobby shook his head wearily. “So we wait it out and let the drugs run their course? I don’t think he’s got that much time, Sam.”

Sam’s stomach twisted violently. It was one thing to have the suspicion roaming the badlands of his mind, another entirely to have a third party state it so bluntly. 

“Tell me that bitch Suzie is still alive.”

“She’s outside with the string bean.” Bobby eyed him warily. “What are you thinking?”

Sam wrenched the shotgun from his grip and headed for the door. “You watch Dean and call me if anything changes. I’m counting on you, Bobby.”

He found the captives right outside the pit. Red Keenan had a .45 on them and Brody was hefting a rifle in a way which meant business. Another hunter was standing at the foot of the stairs, guarding the only way out of the building. Suzie’s expression was calm, defiant but her buddy looked about to piss himself. Sam jabbed the muzzle of his shotgun against her breast bone.

“Give me the antidote, bitch.”

She smirked at him. “Big bro not enjoying the ride so much?”

Sam shucked the gun and she jerked her head to one side. “Highball’s the chemist; ask him.”

Sam turned the gun on the man called Highball. “ _You_ did that? You pumped my brother full of crap and set him loose? What kind of sick bastard are you?”

Highball really did piss himself now and Sam caught the acrid whiff of ammonia. He wrinkled his nose and backed up a few steps. 

“I only did what she wanted.” Highball’s voice was strained with terror. “She got the dope; I just mixed it. I swear to God…”

Suzie sneered. “That’s right, big man. Blame it on the chick.”

Sam jabbed the gun into Highball’s sternum. “Start talking. How do I help my brother?”

Highball shrugged. “Take him to the hospital?”

Sam stepped forward and smacked him in the face, hard enough to dislodge his glasses and rattle his teeth. “Wrong answer, asshole.”

Highball whimpered and his voice went up an octave. “That cocktail lasts an hour at most. It’ll take longer to find the drugs to bring him down.”

Suzie sniggered. “Best get back in there and enjoy the show, Sam.”

Sam turned away before he did something he’d regret. His finger was itching to pull the trigger, put Suzie out of her misery but then he’d be no better than her; a rabid dog acting on base instinct. He heard footsteps and saw Tim Matthews and Kate approaching. Tim was holding a pistol and his face was hard as rock. He brushed past Sam without a word and went into the pit. Kate stopped in front of her sister, studying her with a mix of pity and sadness.

“Enjoy the nut house, Suzie. They’ll like you there; it’s a whole new level of crazy.”

Suzie eyed her defiantly. “Selling me down the river? What happened to family ties?”

Kate laughed sourly. “Just so you know; it was me made the call to Singer. I chose the Winchesters over you so think on that in your padded cell.”

Suzie snorted. “The only thing you chose was Dean Winchester’s dick.”

“And when I get it, I’ll be sure and send a photo.”

Sam couldn’t believe they were discussing this. He was also certain nobody named Wandell would ever grace his brother’s bed. He grabbed Kate’s shoulder and pulled her away from Suzie.

“We need to clean up. The cops can’t find any evidence of us being here.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “You’re calling the cops?”

“You got a better idea?”

Kate bit her lip but didn’t speak.

“We’ll tell them we heard shooting and… ” Sam glanced at Red Keenan. “Do we need an ambulance?”

Red shook his head. “Make it a meat wagon.”

He jerked his head towards the gallery and Sam got the message loud and clear. Nathan, Toby and Ed hadn’t made it but he couldn’t feel bad about that. Even if he was partly responsible for their deaths, the fuckers deserved it. They were the worst kind of sadistic scumbags and though killing humans didn’t usually sit easy with Sam, he could make exceptions where necessary. Something else which didn’t sit right was the bitch who’d engineered it all, cool as a friggin’ cucumber and wearing a sardonic grin.

“Nice plan, Sammy; let the cops deal with the fallout. That’s real brave of you.”

Sam ignored the jibe. “They’ll find you and Pissball here in the pit, along with a truckload of evidence. Neither of you will see daylight for a long time.”

“That ain’t happening.” 

The new voice was hard, commanding and Sam turned in surprise. Tim was behind him, a pistol aimed at Suzie’s head and she was sneering at him. 

“What say, Tim? Feel like a man with that junk in your hand?”

Tim scowled. “You don’t get to live, bitch. You don’t get to sweet talk some asshole judge and walk free. You need putting down.”

“And you’re the one to do that?”

Suzie sounded amused, like she thought Tim was bluffing but Sam felt his righteous rage with unexpected clarity. The psychic force had left some kind of afterglow because now he could sense emotions with precision. He felt Tim’s underlying guilt, Kate’s confusion, Dean’s terror, Bobby’s anxiety and more. There were levels and layers of it but closest and most chilling was the whirling black hole of Suzie’s mind. It was cold, crazy, disturbing and he pulled away quickly; afraid of being sucked into the vortex. He snapped back to reality with an effort. 

“You don’t need to do this, Tim.” 

Tim stared at him. “After everything she did to Dean?”

“He’s my brother and if there’s vengeance on the table it belongs to me.”

Tim shook his head. “You haven’t got the balls. Dean saved my ass and I owe him this.”

“Dean wouldn’t want _this_ …” Sam moved forward but Tim got between himself and Suzie. She watched him without fear.

“We’re all going to Hell, dumbass. Guess I’ll see you there.”

“Don’t bet on it.” Tim thumbed back the trigger. “You’re headed for the deepest level; full ninth circle. Say howdy to Lucifer.”

The bullet hit her right between the eyes, knocked her backwards in a spray of blood and bone. She was dead before she hit the ground but the only person who screamed was Highball. Tim spat on the floor.

“That’s for Dean Winchester, bitch.”

Red Keenan eyed Suzie’s body and sniffed.

“Think you just picked up a few Jesus points there, Matthews.”


	16. Chapter 16

Sam shifted on his chair in the waiting room and wrenched his eyes away from the framed watercolour on the opposite wall. He knew every brush stroke, every detail of the damned thing since it was the only point of interest in the barren, stuffy room. He’d been sitting here for over an hour now, when he wasn’t pacing the corridor outside and he still had no clue what was happening with Dean. The fear and uncertainly was driving him nuts.

As he got to his feet, about to check the nurse’s station again, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“Quit fidgeting, boy. You’re giving me ants in my pants.”

Bobby was sitting beside him, a picture of Zen-like calm and Sam scowled. 

“That’s easy for you to say; he’s not…”

“He’s not what?” It was Bobby’s turn to scowl. “Not my kin? Not my problem? You freakin’ serious?”

Sam shook his head, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, man; but it’s taking too long.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “You forgetting the state he was in? That sort of thing don’t get fixed with a band aid.”

Sam’s stomach twisted. He’d seen the expressions on the faces of the medical staff as they carried Dean in; barely-conscious, bloody and still handcuffed for everybody’s protection. It wasn’t something he’d forget in a hurry. He tried to focus his thoughts elsewhere and decided to go on another coffee run; anything to keep himself occupied.

“You need more caffeine, Bobby?”

Bobby nodded wearily. “And don’t go pestering those nurses on the way down; they ain’t gonna tell you squat.”

His phone rang as Sam was headed out. “Tim? What you got?”

Sam turned back, eager to know what was happening at the carnival ground and Bobby motioned him away impatiently.

“Go get the damned coffee, Dumbo.”

They’d been here just under an hour and a half. The place wasn’t large and Sam already had the floor plan memorised; along with entrances, exits and fire escapes. The cafeteria was on the ground floor and he took the stairs down two levels, joined the short queue at the counter and debated whether to pick up a sandwich. He’d eaten virtually nothing in the past forty eight hours but still couldn’t work upany appetite. How could he think about food when his brother was upstairs in the ER?

It turned out they’d been in Nebraska the whole time; 170 miles from the original meet point in North Platte. Suzie held them just outside a town called Red Cloud and Webster County Community Hospital had only been ten minutes away. However, a straw poll of every hunter present turned up the same unpleasant result: they couldn’t take Dean anywhere near a regular hospital. His injuries would attract half the police in the state, even if he wasn’t on the FBI’s most wanted list, but he still needed urgent medical attention.

Tim suggested Cedar Valley Medical Clinic in Alma, forty miles away. He’d worked a job there once, ridden the place of a potentially catastrophic ghoul problem and they still owed him. He placed the call and it took some fast talking and strong arm tactics before they reluctantly agreed to treat Dean. It would be confidential, no questions asked so long as somebody could supply valid health insurance. Bobby had any number of bogus policies to cover the request. 

Tim went from zero to hero in the blink of an eye. Perhaps he was energised from shooting Suzie but he took decisive control of a potentially chaotic situation. With the gang leader and most of her cronies dead, there didn’t seem much point calling the cops anymore. Tim co-opted Brody as his deputy and got him organising the hunters into clean-up parties. He assured Bobby and Sam that next time someone showed the old carnival ground would be clean as a whistle; nothing to suggest foul play ever went down. Hunters generally flew well below the radar; the dead ones were unlikely to be missed but if anybody came looking for them here, they wouldn’t find a shred of evidence. 

Kate was a potential spanner in the works. She was clearly traumatised, unsurprising given recent events but she’d been raised a hunter and it showed in the silent, stoic way she dealt with her loss. Tim walked her from the building, hand on her arm as he spoke earnestly and she nodded slowly. Sam watched them go; he had no idea how it would pan out but his faith in Tim Matthews was growing stronger by the minute.

He was anxious to get on the road but something important needed taking care of first. He jammed a pistol into Highball’s throat and assured him he’d pull the trigger unless he started talking. He demanded the exact drugs and quantities they’d used on Dean and the creepy son of a bitch spilled his guts in seconds. He was very specific; he also pissed himself again. 

Even with pedal to metal, the journey would take at least half an hour. Jack Saunders and Red Keenan volunteered their services, which Sam interpreted as meaning he couldn’t control his brother alone and it turned out they were right. Moving Dean from the pit got him agitated and he snarled and struggled like a rabid dog. He bit his tongue in the process and blood dripped steadily from his mouth as they carried him outside. Despite the cuffs and ropes, it took all three of them to restrain him on the back seat of the truck while Bobby floored it; cursing under his breath.

Fifteen minutes in Dean stopped fighting; his whole body went limp and he began trembling. He was cold, clammy to the touch and Bobby turned the heater up full. Red and Jack laid their coats over him but the shaking only got worse. His breath was catching in his throat, his chest was heaving and his pupils expanded and retracted alarmingly.

They were running out of time and Sam clawed some back by calling ahead to the clinic, bulldozing his way through to a senior doctor and telling him exactly what they were bringing in. He described every injury on Dean’s body then relayed the ingredients of the drugs cocktail and the reactions it provoked. Finally he came clean about Dean’s dependency on heavy duty painkillers. When he’d finished there was a pause on the line before the doctor’s voice came back, calm and professional. He said there was a team waiting and to get the patient to them as soon as possible. Like Sam needed telling…

As he disconnected the mood in the truck felt ominous. Red and Jack were watching Dean anxiously but to Sam’s eyes it felt like pity. They were looking at his brother like he was a worthless, street corner junkie and anger prickled up his spine. They didn’t know Dean, didn’t know what he’d been through and it was none of their damned business anyway.

Nobody spoke for a while and the silence was getting tense when Bobby finally broke it. “Those pills related to that thing in Duluth?”

He sounded cautious, uneasy and Sam went on the defensive. “Don’t judge him, Bobby. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, you insolent pup.” Bobby’s voice was hard as nails. “I ain’t judging him, I’m freakin’ _worried_ for him.”

Sam reddened; chastised by the outburst. He was damned if he was going to apologise though...

An assistant requesting his order pulled Sam’s attention back to the cafeteria and he picked up two coffees to go. As he approached the waiting room, juggling the overfilled cups, he saw a doctor go inside. He practically sprinted the last few yards, almost scalding his hands in the process.

Richard Hallam was the doctor Sam spoke with on the phone. He was a consultant at Cedar Valley; a stout, middle-aged man with a no-nonsense approach to medicine and pretty much everything else. He didn’t sugar coat the news, bluntly stating how Dean was lucky to be alive. The drugs came close to shutting him down, would have triggered a heart attack or stroke if the team hadn’t known exactly what they were dealing with and Sam saved his life by supplying that vital information. 

The overall prognosis was cautiously optimistic but ultimately uncertain. Hallam and his crew had cleaned and stitched Dean’s wounds, stabilised his condition and were keeping him sedated while they flushed the narcotics from his system. His physical injuries were numerous; in addition to the gunshot wounds he’d suffered four cracked ribs, a sprained wrist, concussion, internal bruising plus multiple cuts and contusions. Sam’s mind reeled as he tried to digest it all while still being bombarded with medical information.

The principle concern was Dean’s leg. The bullet wound was a major concern in itself but he’d complicated the injury by standing and ultimately fighting on it. The resulting muscle damage couldn’t be fully gauged until he woke up and started talking but Hallam had a fair idea how things were likely to pan out. Dean was looking at some serious mobility issues; a few months on crutches at least, coupled with a lengthy physical therapy regime.

The fallout from the drugs was a separate matter. Flashbacks and nightmares aside, there were measures and recovery times required for addiction. The more Sam listened, the more he understood the challenges of the coming months. There was no way on earth Dean would submit to psychotherapy or counselling but he wasn’t going to face withdrawal alone either. He was a demanding, frustrating patient at the best of times but Sam was determined to be there for his brother. No matter how gnarly things got, they’d work through it one day at a time. 

When the doctor was through he stood up to take his leave. He hesitated at the door, eyeing Sam bleakly.

“Whoever did that to him, they’re being punished for it?”

It was a leading question if Sam ever heard one. He exchanged a brief look with Bobby then offered Hallam a tight smile.

“It’s taken care of.”

He hoped that was true. Highball was the only gang member left standing but Red and Jack were on their way back to Red Cloud with a plan. He’d get a special kind of justice, as would the two hunters Dean hospitalised. Sam didn’t need to ask any questions; what they’d done to Dean wouldn’t be taken lightly by the hunting community.

He slumped in his chair, feeling a whole lot lighter than he did fifteen minutes ago. As the gnawing dread and fear began to lift, the events of the past two days hit him hard. He was tired, aching, hungry and the mother of all headaches was starting up behind his eyes. He felt Bobby’s hand on his arm.

“Go get some shuteye. There’s a motel across the road.”

It was a tempting idea which Sam couldn’t entertain right now. “Maybe later. After I’ve seen Dean.”

Bobby studied him quietly for a moment. “You saved his life, Sam, you should be proud of that.”

“That wasn’t me, Bobby. If you and the others hadn’t shown up when you did…”

He left the sentence hanging, unwilling to speculate what might have happened otherwise. Bobby snorted softly.

“You played your part in that rescue, son.”

Bobby’s expression turned guarded but he said his piece anyway.

“Shotguns don’t generally backfire. Hunters’ guns _never_ backfire and they don’t jam and they don’t overheat on their own. All three together just defies the laws of nature…

“Want to tell me what happened?”

He _knew_. Sam was convinced of it; it was written in every line on his face. He was also pretty sure how Bobby came by the information.

“How much did he tell you?”

Bobby’s eyes went wide and innocent but he quickly gave up the pretence. “I’ve known about the visions for a while. We had the telekinesis chat a few months back.”

“Jesus Christ.” Sam shot to his feet, anger and betrayal vying for control. “Dean and his fucking mouth…”

“He’s worried about you, you damned idjit.” Bobby’s voice was quiet and calm. It only served to incense Sam more.

“He had no right telling you that stuff, Bobby. It’s personal.”

Bobby stood up and grasped him firmly by the shoulders, his expression grim. “You got any idea how much crap your brother carries round, boy? How much blame and guilt he lays on himself? It amazes me he don’t buckle under the weight and on top of all that, he’s scared shitless you’ll go darkside.”

Sam’s legs wobbled and he sat down hard. Guilt was rapidly replacing anger because he _knew_ Dean felt that way. He’d watched his brother struggle with feelings of self-loathing and worthlessness for years but never made any more than token efforts to help. He’d pretended Dean’s flippant brush offs and gruff dismissals meant he was okay, meant he was coping and he’d been dead wrong on every count. 

Sam had been consciously deceiving himself, which made him selfish, cowardly and stupid. Dean deserved more and he needed support from his family, whether he thought he wanted it or not. Bobby was part of the family now. It was clear from the way Dean opened up to him that he trusted Bobby enough to confide things he’d never admit to own brother...

When Bobby spoke again his tone was gentler. “You boys dance round each other like ballerinas but Dean needs to unload sometimes. I’m guessing those pills were a shoulder to cry on when nobody was around to listen.

The implication was clear and Sam’s guts clenched up. He opened his mouth to protest but Bobby got there first. 

“Nobody’s blaming you, Sam; your brother’s like a giant, screwed-up clam most of the time. I’m only surprised this didn’t happen years ago.”

Sam agreed. No-one could operate under Dean’s self-imposed terms of silence and secrets indefinitely. 

“He can’t know what really happened in the pit, Bobby. He needs to focus on getting better, not be worrying about his freaky fucking brother.”

Bobby looked uncertain but capitulated readily. “As far as Dean’s concerned we showed up in the nick of time and saved you both from a bloody death. That good enough?”

Sam shrugged. That was as good as it was likely to get. Bobby’s mouth quirked up into a knowing smile. 

“When Dean’s back on his feet we’re all gonna have a heart to heart. Me and Jim Beam are mediating and it’ll be up close and personal. I ain’t kidding, Sam. The crap you boys don’t talk about will tear you apart if you let it fester.”

Sam nodded glumly as a nurse came into the room. She told them they could see Dean but not to expect anything in the way of conversation. He was heavily sedated and out for the count.

She directed them to a private room on the fourth floor of the building. Early afternoon sun flooded the room with bright autumnal light but all Sam could focus on was his brother. Dean was so pale the cuts and bruises on his face and arms stood out like islands in a stream. He was hooked up to various drip feeds and machines, there was a bandage on his right wrist and his breathing was shallow. Bobby cursed quietly and Sam glanced across. He was staring at the bed, his expression haunted. 

“Dammit, Sam, I’m sorry.”

Of all the things Sam was expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. “What you got to be sorry about?”

Bobby shook his head. “I got you boys into that mess, sent you over to Nathan and Toby. I should have known better, should have smelled a rat...”

Sam shook his head emphatically. “There’s more than enough blame to go round, Bobby but you are _not_ feeling guilty about this. None of it was your fault.”

Bobby snorted doubtfully as his cell phone rang. He muttered an apology, left the room and Sam dropped into a chair beside the bed. He clasped Dean’s left hand; warm to the touch but his brother was totally unresponsive. Beneath the closed lids his eyes were still. Sam wasn’t entirely on board with the doctors using more drugs to combat those already in his system, but he wasn’t about to argue the point with medical professionals either. 

The quiet in the room was broken only by the soft, repetitive sounds of the machines. Time seemed to slow down and then stop completely. The room was warm and Sam felt drowsy; calmed and comforted by the close presence of his brother. Dean always made him feel safe and protected. Right now Sam felt like he was seven years old again and it felt good. It felt like coming home. 

His eyelids were heavy as lead and his head drooped forward. It landed on Dean’s forearm and he didn’t have the energy to lift it again. His brother was going to be okay and that’s all that mattered. There might be an immense hill to climb on the road to recovery but Sam focussed on the end result. A few months down the line they’d be arguing over their next hunt. He’d tease Dean about his gimpy leg and Dean would bitch about his driving. He’d stuff his face with burgers, turn up the radio and promise serious beat downs if anything happened to his baby with Sam at the wheel.

Thinking about the Impala reminded Sam it was still outside a barn in New Platte. He needed to get over there and recover it before Dean woke up and pitched a fit. He figured he might do that tomorrow.

Or the day after.


	17. Chapter 17

Dean stood on the edge of the pool, feeling the warmth of the sun on his back as he contemplated the tranquil water. It wasn’t a very large pool but for the past few weeks it had been serving his purposes just fine. This time of morning, 9.30 am, there was never anybody else using it and it gave him the opportunity to put in some serious exercise before breakfast. 

He hitched up the ratty, cut-off jeans which were serving as bathing shorts and made a graceful dive into the deep end. Kicking up to the surface, he began slicing through the water in a powerful freestyle. As his leg grew stronger and his ribs and wrist mended, his distances had gotten progressively better. He always pushed himself beyond his limits and now he could cover a mile and a half in the hour he allocated himself daily. Dean reckoned that was damned near close to Olympic standard.

He enjoyed his solitary swims. They gave him time to contemplate and there was plenty to consider. Sam had insisted they drive down to this small hotel in Mexico, five miles north of Rosarito when Nebraska’s winter became hazardous to Dean’s recovery. The snow and ice was treacherous beneath his crutches and several times he’d slipped and landed flat on his ass. It was embarrassing more than painful and though Dean had seen the funny side, his brother most definitely had not. A bigger problem was the biting, penetrating cold which crept into his bones and set his injuries aching like sons of bitches, especially in the mornings. The second time Sam found him hunched and shaking on the edge of the bathtub, teeth clenched against the pain he’d decided they were going someplace warmer. Dean had been initially reluctant, preferring to stay in Alma, close to the Cedar Valley Clinic where he could continue his treatment. Sam argued that sun, sea and sand would be just as effective, the hospital concurred and Dean allowed himself to get talked round. He hadn’t put up too much of a fight.

Sam’s prediction had proven accurate. A month of physiotherapy in Alma had gotten Dean out of bed, on his feet and pretty nimble on a pair of crutches. After two weeks in Mexico he was walking on his own, the pain was good as gone and he could even run short distances without his leg collapsing under him. Now, the end of week three he was working on the limp. It wasn’t exactly pronounced but it got people looking and made him feel like an invalid. There wasn’t going to be much of a week four in Rosarito since Christmas was only seven days off and Bobby had summoned both Winchesters to Sioux Falls. He’d insisted they all spend the holidays together and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He mentioned getting a few bottles of Jim Beam for the occasion and Sam’s eye twitched at the news like it meant something. He’d remained tight lipped though and refused to be drawn out. Bobby might as well have been a clam…

Dean reached the end of the pool and executed a smooth flip turn before starting his next length. As soon as he’d become mobile he’d locked into a routine he liked and now he followed it every day. After swimming he’d eat a leisurely breakfast then take a brisk walk or slow run along the beach. The packed sand further strengthened his leg as he covered the mile or so to a beach bar he’d discovered. There were always pretty girls to talk to while he drank a few sodas and they all wanted to know about his scars. Dean was determined to get a good tan and refused to hide himself beneath layers of clothes. Besides, it gave him an opportunity to spin some yarns, see how far he could take the fabrications before he got called on them. Sometimes Sam would join him but usually he elected to stay at the hotel, taking advantage of their free wifi to check news reports or research some new monster which popped up on his radar. Sam’s head was still very much in the hunt; Dean’s not so much. He was officially convalescing, had been skilfully manoeuvred into that mindset and as soon as he’d accepted it wouldn’t be a quick process, he decided to relax and enjoy the ride. 

He usually ate lunch at the beach bar, which grilled up a mean surf ‘n’ turf before walking back to the hotel. In the long, hot afternoons he’d tinker with the Impala, hose off the sand and salt which collected on her bodywork or just lounge by the pool, reading books and working on his tan. 

In the evening Sam would drive them into town for dinner. Even when Dean was strong enough to handle the old Chevy himself, the practice continued. He liked a few brews with his grub, a couple more afterwards and Sam acknowledged that. His brother was bending over backwards to accommodate his needs and Dean understood why. Sam blamed himself for what happened at the hands of Suzie Wandell and no matter how many times he got reminded it wasn’t his fault, guilt clung to him like a shroud. In the early days at the clinic, when Dean struggled to get out of bed or put one foot in front of the other without dropping like a stone, he’d seen tears glinting in Sam’s eyes. Dean felt terrible about that but his brother was one stubborn bastard and talking sense to him had no effect. Eventually Dean decided to let him stew in his juices, hoping he might come round in his own time. Alternatively, Bobby could beat some sense into him over the holidays.

In the meantime the simmering tension resulted in petty squabbles and some damned awkward silences. Dean figured that’s why they were spending so much time apart, in spite of sharing a hotel room on the edge of paradise. Truth might be painful but denial was agonising. 

One thing Sam never seemed to tire of was playing nursemaid. Dean had lost a lot of weight in the early stages of recovery; his appetite taking a nosedive due to grotty hospital fare and the god-awful effects of withdrawal. Sam was determined to fatten him up and while Dean never dreamed he’d need coaxing and cajoling back to his staple diet of burgers and pie, Sam had jumped on his case and refused to get off. 

His enthusiasm for greasy, cholesterol-laden food might be returning but he hadn’t gained back any weight. He refused to get on the scales but was still too thin; knew that from the way Sam frowned every time he hitched his belt tight to stop his pants falling down. Dean tried to focus on the positives; he might be on the lean side but coupled with the tan it made him look sleek and defined. Chicks dug the look, it got him laid and was another reason to stroll about wearing nothing but cut-off jeans and shades. 

His body was mostly healed now. It had taken the best part of two months but Dean felt almost ready to get back into the game. A few more days in the sun, Christmas at Bobby’s and he figured he’d be good to go. The psychological effects of a bad October were taking longer to process. The clinic in Alma had substituted one heavy duty painkiller for a different type while he was under their care. The dosage was carefully administered but constant because he couldn’t cope without it. The early part of his recovery was rough. He hadn’t been able to get out of bed for the first eight days, had trouble breathing, keeping food down and had only the sketchiest grasp on reality. He was in all kinds of pain, spiked a fever and was plagued by hallucinations and waking dreams which saw him freaking out on a daily basis. The medics kept telling him it was a result of the drugs cocktail he’d been fed, that things would get better but it hadn’t often felt that way to Dean. 

Sam and Bobby had been his two cornerstones throughout the ordeal and in moments of clarity he’d wake to find one or both of them sitting beside his bed. They’d offer words of comfort, cheesy jokes or impatient reprimands dependent on his mood. Dean felt weak, vulnerable and became reliant their support and closeness. He’d panicked the few times woke and they weren’t in the room, but was too embarrassed to admit it. He suspected some of the nurses passed the intel round though. He was never alone after that. 

As his health began to improve the clinic began decreasing the pain meds. Dean felt the change instantly; clammy skin, dry mouth, itchy eyes and overactive brain function. All symptoms of withdrawal but he didn’t draw attention to it. Allowing himself to get addicted was shameful enough, he wasn’t about to make it worse by sharing his detox hell so he grinned and pretended everything was okay. In reality he couldn’t sleep or eat and every waking moment was occupied by thoughts of the drugs cage down the corridor. It would be so easy to sneak inside, steal what he needed and he battled that urge daily. He got through it by telling himself this wasn’t even real cold turkey. The clinic was weaning him off the drugs slowly and he needed to man up and deal with it. He needed to get himself straight as soon as possible. 

By his time of discharge he was off the heavy duty meds and adjusting to the new pills they’d prescribed. He was still shaky, jonesing and everybody seemed to know about it. He was offered counselling and turned it down flat, electing to deal with the problem in his own way. Sam found them a cheap motel and Dean immersed himself in pornography, music and blowing off his brother’s efforts to help. A few beers might have helped things along but he was taking too much medication to handle alcohol. He slept more hours than he was awake, leaving bed only to shower and dress for his daily physio session. Sam would drive him to the clinic and watch him work with the therapist, offering smiles and encouragement the whole time. Dean knew it was eating him up inside but got the feeling Sam needed this as much as he did. 

He had a few visitors during his time at the clinic. Tim Matthews dropped by and they didn’t so much work out their differences as nail a tarp across them. Tim had been instrumental in saving his life but Dean didn’t thank him for it. In his opinion it made them square and nothing more. They’d never be friends, all trust was gone and Tim seemed to accept that. Their parting was strained and Dean was glad to see him go. 

Kate Wandell came over a few times but whatever it was she was looking for, Dean had no interest in providing it. In his eyes their relationship was no different to that between himself and Tim. She’d played a crucial part in his rescue, he was appreciative of her efforts but saw no reason to be grateful. Her presence only reminded him of things he was trying to forget and eventually she got the message and stopped visiting. Sam thought he’d been ungracious in the matter; Dean told him to get screwed. 

He remembered next to nothing about the final act at the old amusement park. He had sketchy recollections of getting spiked by Highball and taken to the pit but as soon as the drugs kicked in, everything went blank. Perhaps it was his mind’s way of trying to deal with the trauma but either way Dean was grateful for it. Sam and Bobby filled him in along the way, describing how a band of hunters saved the day and Sam bigged up Bobby’s crew so much that Dean got suspicious. He was certain they were holding something back, suspected those missing details were related to Sam’s psychic powers but neither would talk about it. Bobby maintained it was a conversation for another time and eventually Dean let it drop. He didn’t want to deal with any of that stuff right now, not ever if he was honest. It scared the hell out of him but so long as Sam wasn’t doing anything freaky in front of him, he could pretend it wasn’t there. For now at least. He promised himself he’d get back on point and deal with the situation it when he felt stronger.

Somehow, Highball had been the only gang member left standing at the end and he’d been dispatched to the nearest police station with his pockets jammed full of stolen narcotics. Whatever explanation he’d given the cops clearly didn’t take since he was still on lockdown and awaiting trial on Federal drug charges. 

The two hunters Dean hospitalised had been contacted discretely and told, in no uncertain terms, they were out of the loop. Never again would they be offered assistance, aid or rescue. Nobody would stop them going back to their old life, if that’s what they chose but Dean figured they’d be pretty stupid to carry on hunting with no backup. A part of him hoped they would though. If he ran into either of them again he intended to finish what he started and put the fuckers down for good.

He completed a final length of the pool, stretched out on a sun lounger and let the morning sun bake him dry. He threw an arm across his eyes to shield them from the glare. After a few minutes his stomach growled and he was thinking of heading to the hotel restaurant when he heard footsteps approaching. He dropped his arm and squinted up at Sam who was clutching two glasses of orange juice.

“Freshly squeezed. Get it while it’s cold.”

Dean sat up and took the glass. “Peace offering?”

Sam squatted on the lounger opposite. “We at war again?”

Dean shook his head, smiling. “You’re at war with yourself, Sammy. Let go of it, huh?”

Sam’s brow furrowed. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t relinquish the guilt just yet. Over the past eight weeks Dean had come to realise that what happened in Red Cloud wasn’t the fault of any single person. They’d all screwed up to some extent, all felt bad about it but dwelling on the whys and wherefores wasn’t helping anybody. All he wanted to do was put the past in his rear view and move on; he just couldn’t work out how to get his brother moving in the same direction.

Sam was watching him over the rim of the glass. “This hotel has pretty much cleaned us out. How about we play some pool tonight, make ourselves a little travelling money?”

Dean nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Reckon you can get through a game without picking a fight?”

Sam’s tone was light but Dean felt his hackles rising. “You mean like you’re doing now?”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not trying to cause trouble. I just need to be sure.”

Dean stood up, surprised at how easy it was. “Sure I’m not popping pills behind your back? That cuts both ways, man. How can I be sure you won’t pull that psychic crap next time our backs are to the wall?”

Sam scowled. “Screw you, Dean.”

Dean fought the urge to punch him in the face. A full blown fist fight wasn’t likely to solve anything… Or maybe it would. He’d keep that as a backup plan but for now he kept his voice calm and sat down again.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, it’s tough as hell. Every day I think about getting hold of some pills and every day I tell myself it’ll never happen. I won’t betray you like that again, Sammy. You’re the one thing keeping me strong and as long as you’re around, I’ll stay clean. I owe you that much.”

Sam smiled wanly. “I’m not going anywhere, Dean.”

Dean waited for him to elaborate. He wanted Sam to make a similar commitment; hear an assurance that he’d never use his powers again. As the silence stretched out he realised that wasn’t going to happen. 

“Guess you won’t make the same promise, huh?”

Sam shook his head. “I can’t, Dean. Not when I don’t know if I can keep it.”

Dean snorted. “What does that mean? You’re not even gonna try?”

“I never said that.” Sam’s voice sounded ragged. “Of course I’ll try. I’ll try with everything I’ve got because I don’t want to let you down or disappoint you, but…”

Dean’s stomach twisted. “But…?”

Sam shook his head. “Sometimes I don’t get any choice. Sometimes it comes out of nowhere and just… takes hold. I can’t control it, man. I don’t know what to do…”

Dean looked away, unwilling to reveal the fear in his eyes. He wanted what was best for Sam, it was the only thing he wanted but most of all he needed this damned thing out of their lives. From the look on Sam’s face, he needed it just as much. Neither of them had a friggin’ clue how to accomplish that though...

If their roles were reversed Sam would be all over it. He’d be imploring Dean to open up and share, assuring him it would help but Dean had never been good with that kind of thing. Sam looked young and scared, needed advice and comfort from his big brother and Dean just didn’t know what to tell him. He opted for deflection instead. 

“Hang in there, buddy. As soon as we get to Bobby’s we’ll talk about it, okay? Bobby’ll know what to do.”

Even if he didn’t, Bobby usually knew the right thing to say and Dean was counting on that. Sam hung his head and Dean slapped him on the shoulder. 

“I’m getting some breakfast, then I’m heading over to the beach bar. You should come along, those chicks’ll get your mind off this shit.”

Sam considered for a moment. “Is that a promise?”

Dean smiled and it was very nearly genuine. “It’s one we can both keep.”

 

FIN


End file.
